Coming Undone for You
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: A collection of drabbles - moments in the dating life of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. Superhusbands/Stony, obviously.
1. Bad Day

**TITLE: Coming Undone for You**

**RATING: T**

**PAIRING: Superhusbands/Stony**

**GENRE: Romance & Humor (Seriously, I never write anything else)**

**DESCRIPTION: A collection of drabbles - moments in the dating life of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.**

**UNFORTUNATELY, I LOST THAT LAW SUIT, SO: I don't own the Avengers or any of its characters.**

**A/N: I felt the need to practice writing Superhusbands, so this happened. Enjoy~!**

**(EDIT ON 8/13/12: I wrote a few more Superhusbads drabbles and decided to post them with this one, so I'm editing the title and description of this story accordingly.)**

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**1. Bad Day**

Tony walked into the living room having the mother of all bad days, the sort of bad day that most bad days hear rumors of and dream to someday achieve, the sort of bad day that starts with a roundhouse kick to the face from Chuck Norris himself and ends with a kidnapping by rogue wannabe ninjas (not as cool as actual ninjas by a long shot), the sort of bad day that, under normal, non-Tony-Stark circumstances, can only be a result of watching _all five_ Twilight movies. Yeah. That bad.

The Board hated him again for no apparent reason (at least, no reason apparent to Tony); he hadn't produced anything of value in his workshop in weeks; he had really wanted a hot dog and there had been no time to get one; the traffic had been even worse than usual; Clint had ambushed him with an armada of water balloons on his way in the door; _the robots were starting to like Bruce more than they liked their creator_ … And Tony was just so tired of it all. He wanted to lie around and whine for a couple of hours, watch the original Star Wars trilogy nonstop, and then sleep for a few days.

Tony walked into the living room having the mother of all bad days, and saw Steve sitting on the couch, watching some stupid kids' show about a talking aardvark.

"Hey," Steve said, smiling that million-watt smile that never failed to cause Tony to catch his breath (not that he'd ever admit it.)

The blond supersoldier held his arms out, and his boyfriend couldn't have helped it, even if he'd wanted to – he fell into them.

Steve was just so warm and comfortable, like a pillow Tony could just fall asleep on and never wake up. And he gave the best hugs, he really did – all soft and tight and I-never-want-to-let-you-go.

And then Steve kissed him, and Tony kissed back, forgetting everything except for the feeling of this, this this _this_, this slow, passionate fire he never thought he'd feel. Even with Pepper, it had never been this sweet, this _right._

Tony found himself watching Steve as they kissed, taking it all in – blue eyes, blond hair, smile that could light up the world and then some.

It was all _his_, he thought wonderingly.

Tony had walked into the living room having the mother of all bad days.

But, a couple of (very good) minutes later, when Steve asked, "So, how was your day?" Tony answered, "Great, how was yours?"

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**Review, or face the wrath of the son of Coul.**

**(Ahaha thank IgneusGlacies for that one. xD)**


	2. Home

**A/N: This might be the shortest thing I've ever written, except for poetry. Huh. (A note: Inspired by the song Home, by Vanessa Carlton. Which is really pretty. You should look it up.)**

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**2. Home**

"Do you ever miss it?"

Steve looked over from the TV to Tony, who seemed to find the floor incredibly fascinating.

"Miss what?" he asked.

"Home," Tony replied. "You know, the 40's. World War II. Everyone you knew back then. That stuff."

Steve thought about it for a moment, then said, "I miss everyone from back then, yeah, but I don't miss home."

"You don't?" Tony didn't get it.

Steve smiled, that adorable little half-smile that made Tony's arc reactor have to work a little harder. "How could I miss home when I'm at home right now?"

"But … you aren't." Tony was starting to get worried.

"Yes, I am. Home, for me, is where you are, Tony."

"… Oh."

_I've always known, with you, I am home._


	3. Wednesday

**Look, another one! Exciting stuff, this is. *flails excitedly***

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**3. Wednesday**

When Steve woke up and stumbled into the kitchen to produce some life-giving fuel (read: coffee), he noticed something on the refrigerator.

Or, more accurately, a plethora of _somethings_.

To be precise, a host of refrigerator magnets spelling out the words, "Hi, Steeb. It's Wednesday. Happy Wednesday. And also, I love you. — Tony." Below the magnets, a single red rose was taped to the refrigerator door.

Steve forgot about the coffee — forgot everything— and simply stared at the refrigerator, a blush growing on his face, until the creator of the display appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Tony … What is this?"

The man in question attempted to back through the doorway in the hopes of avoiding any confrontation. ("Attempted" being the key word in that sentence.)

"It's … nothing," he muttered, after a good minute of being held captive by his boyfriend's unfairly strong, serum-enhanced arms.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Steve replied.

"Well, it is," Tony insisted.

"Right, sure. And also, Clint is incapable of using a bow and arrows."

… The puppy dog eyes. Those damn puppy dog eyes. Fuck. Why did Steve have to have such irresistible puppy dog eyes?

Tony sighed. "Fine. It isn't _nothing_, per say. Pepper told me, when we broke up, that I was bad at showing my affection. So I'm trying to … be better at it. With you."

When he didn't see any sort of reaction on his boyfriend's face, he continued to babble. "I mean, if you don't like it, I can promise never to do it again, or, I mean, if you don't like me anymore, and want to break up, I'd understand, it's not like I'm very good at this or anything —"

Steve promptly shut him up. With his mouth.

"Tony, you have to stop having so little confidence in yourself," the supersoldier told him, once they were able to breathe again. "You might not be experienced with relationships, but you _are_ getting better. And this is pretty much the nicest thing anyone has done for me since I woke up in the twenty-first century."

Tony brightened. "Did it make your day?"

"Are you kidding? It made my _month_."

"Well, that's good, then. I-I mean, of course it did, I did it, and anything done by me must be awesome —"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, now come here, so that I can thank you properly."


	4. Proposal

**A/N: ASFLKJAFKLJ ANOTHER ONE! *flails* **

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**4. Proposal**

"_So let's raise a cup, 'cause I found someone to carry me home." _– _We Are Young by Fun_

"This drink, I like it," Tony proclaimed, slamming aforementioned drink down on the table. "ANOTHER!"

Steve sighed smiling fondly at his boyfriend, sitting next to him at the bar. (If it could be called sitting; it was really more like _flopping_.) The Avengers had decided to go out and celebrate their latest victory – and, of course, Tony had somehow managed to get himself completely intoxicated.

And now, he was starting to talk like Thor which was _never_ a good sign.

The supersoldier waved back the bartender who had gone to fulfill Tony's request. "Actually," he said, "I think Tony's had enough for the night. Could you cancel that, please?"

"Of course" the man replied before turning to attend to another customer.

"But Steeeeeeebe~!" Tony whined. "I really _loved_ that drink!"

"What do you love more – the drink, or me?" Steve shot back. "Because if you don't stop drinking right now, you aren't getting laid for the next two weeks."

Tony's eyes widened. "You wouldn't really do that to me, Steebe, would you? I'm too ire … irresis … irresisaflafflesomething."

Unable to pronounce words over two syllables? This man definitely needed to stop drinking.

"I would, and you aren't," Steve said sternly. He got up and extended a hand to his boyfriend. "Now, come on. We're going home."

Tony muttered something about evil, self-righteous jerks from the forties who never let anybody have any fun, but he took the hand, using it to pull himself into a standing position. Of course, he promptly lost his balance and fell over, but, they, that was what Steve's shoulder was there for.

The blond man put a steady hand on the drunk man's back, steadying him and steering him out of the bar. Tony smiled happily, leaning into the touch, closing his eyes and nuzzling Steve's neck like a sleepy cat full of milk.

"You're too god to me, Steebe," he murmured.

Steve blushed and whispered, "I try."

"No, you do better than try, you –"

Tony pushed away suddenly to stand straight, holding on to the doorframe of the bar for support. "This man," he announced, pointing to Steve, "is the best boyfriend a genius, billio – onaire, playboy, philansomething like me could ever hope for. He's kind and strong an supportive and always listens and always forgives and he's just _there_, you know? He's just … _Steebe._"

Steve, very successfully ignoring the blush spreading like the Plague over his face and neck, tugged on Tony's arm, pulling him out onto the street. "Come on, we really have to go."

But the drunk man wasn't finished yet. "And he's everything to me, you know? I love him more than I love my goatee. And that's a fucking lot, because my goatee is fucking _awesome_ –"

Steve, unable to think of any words to say to this, kissed Tony instead.

It shut him up long enough for the supersoldier to get him out and call Happy to come get them, which was something.

During the limo ride back, Steve thought Tony had fallen asleep on his shoulder, until the man drunkenly murmured "Hey, Steebe, you're gonna marry me, right?"

"_What?!_"

Steve couldn't have heard him right. Did Tony, commitment-phobe number one, just _propose_?

"Marry me."

There was that pesky blush again. "This isn't a … a _proposal_, is it?"

"No, no," Tony assured him. "I'll do that _proper_, with, like, a fancy dinner, flowers, a speech, a ring. The works. But I just wanna be _sure_. That you're willing to deal with me. That you won't get tired of me. That you'll still forgive me for all of my shit in five, ten, twenty years. I don't wanna get turned down. Bad for my rep, you know?"

Steve smiled slightly, laughing a little. So like Tony to check he wouldn't be turned down before he actually proposed.

But if the warm feeling slowly spreading through his chest like hot chocolate on a cold winter day was anything to go by, the actual proposal would be incredible.

The blond man pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead and pulled back before he was yanked into one on the lips.

"You're high maintenance, Tony," he said, "but I love you. Always will. And, yeah, I'll marry you."

Tony grinned with pleasure, closing his eyes again; his mission had been accomplished. "Good to know."

And, although Tony later proposed "proper," with a fancy dinner, flowers, a speech, and a ring, and it was truly wonderful, Steve always remembered that late night in the back of a limo as the time the man he loved asked him to marry him.

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**A/N: By the way, just a leetle reminder, reviews are loved. :)**


	5. Automatic Doors

**A/N: (Yup, another one. I am on FIRE.) I should note that the idea for this one came from my younger sister. She suggested that Steve would think Tony had magic powers when Steve saw him use an automatic hand-dryer, but then, after some discussion, we decided that it would be funnier with automatic doors, and … here you go.**

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**5. Automatic Doors**

Tony absentmindedly looked up from the Iron Man upgrade he was working on to see Steve standing outside the door to his workshop, his hands up as though pushing at the air in front of him. He was muttering something and wearing his Concentrating Face – the one he used while leading a mission or trying to understand modern technology.

Tony gave Steve a quizzical look. Steve blushed, seemingly embarrassed for some reason – oh.

"JARVIS, let him in," Tony instructed.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you forget the code or something?" the brunette man inquired.

"No, I was just … um …" Steve looked at his feet. "Trying to open it with magic."

"Magic?"

"Yeah. See, I was at the grocery store with Clint," the supersoldier explained (and somehow this explained everything, but Tony wanted to know the whole story anyway because it would probably be funny), "since Fury was mad at him and told him to go buy some Advil, since Clint was causing him to take so much. I went along, to keep Clint out of trouble and also because I'd never actually been to a grocery store before."

"Oh, huh, I guess you haven't," Tony mused, fiddling with the suit while he waited for Steve to get to the point.

"Yeah, well," the man in question continued, "when we went in the doors just _opened_ for Clint! He didn't have to push them or pull them or anything! He just walked up to them, and they _opened_! It was like magic!"

Tony could see where this was going, and he didn't like it. (Although he had to resist the urge to face-palm. Oh, Steve …)

"So, I asked him how he did it, and he said he was an expert in something called Door Magic, which is the magic of opening doors with your mind! He said he could teach me how to do it, so he did. And I was good at it! I got the doors to the grocery store to open on my first try!"

Steve seemed very proud of this feat. It took a lot of self-control for Tony to not bang his head onto his desk.

Oh, God. _Oh, Steve._

"I figured I'd practice my Door Magic on the door to your workshop, but it didn't work," the supersoldier finished in a quiet, ashamed voice. "I guess I'm just not that good at Door Magic after all, even though Clint said it was so easy … I guess there must be something wrong with me."

Tony knew that Door Magic was something idiotic that Clint had invented for the sole purpose of messing with Steve, but Steve just looked so _sad_ about his failure, like a kicked puppy.

Sighing, the genius put down his tools and stretched his arms out to his boyfriend. "Come here."

Steve went willingly, letting Tony wrap himself around him like a warm, comforting blanket.

"Look," Tony said, soft and intense and serious, "Door Magic isn't a real thing. Clint made it up because Clint is a douche, albeit a clever douche, and I will totally get back at him later. But there is _nothing wrong with you_, Steve, and you should never, ever, _ever_ think that again. You're perfect, and there's nothing you can't do." Tony leaned in to press a line of kisses to Steve's neck, loving and reassuring.

"Except win video games," Steve added, laughing a bit hysterically to draw attention away from his reddening face.

"Except that," Tony agreed, grinning and resting his forehead against Steve's.

Steve leaned in to touch Tony's lips with his own; Tony, clearly not satisfied, pulled the other man in for something longer.

A moment later, Steve pulled away and smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem," Tony replied.

"And, by the way, I think you're perfect, too."

"You're clearly delusional."

"I _will_ be, if you don't explain to me how the heck Clint managed to open those doors if it wasn't with magic."

"Oh, right. I guess nobody ever thought to explain automatic doors to you, huh?"


	6. This

**A/N: So funny story: a couple of nights ago, I wanted to write some Superhusbands, but I was feeling uninspired. I decided to go on a quest for inspiration. I stepped outside of the cabin, saw the stars, and BOOM. I heard Tony going, "You know, this company retreat idea might possibly be the worst idea Fury has ever had" in my head. INSPIRATION.**

**By the way, the setting is based off of the place I'm staying right now for a family reunion. I don't own it. Nor do I own the song S.E.X. by Nickelback.**

**NOW ENJOY, MY MINIONS. This one is pretty long.  
**

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**6. This**

"You know, this company retreat idea might possibly be the worst idea Fury has ever had," Tony said absentmindedly.

"Nah, I think his worst idea was punishing Clint by taking away his crossbow," Steve countered.

"But … but _seriously_. Dragging us to a camp in the middle of nowhere -"

"We're on a lake in upper New York state, Tony."

"Like I said, middle of nowhere - with no internet, very little technology, no warm running water, and _outdoor fucking showers_ and telling us to do teen bonding activities? Can't beat that, not even if you made Bruce Hulk out and made it impossible for him to chance back."

"Well, I don't know," Steve said quietly. "I actually sort-of like … this."

The two men ceased debating for a moment to survey the _this_. They were sitting on the top of a huge rock - not just any rock, but the sort of rock that was to normal rocks what the Hulk was to normal people - overlooking the lake. It wasn't warm, but not too cold, with a nice breeze that made Steve snuggle a little closer into Tony's shoulder. The air was pregnant with the sound of crickets and the smell of pine trees.

And all they could see were stars. A blanket of night surrounded them in its mysterious embrace, the sort of night that could never visit the big city, where it would be scared off by endless neon signs and traffic lights. The stars - as numerous as Fury's reasons to be pissed at Tony - seemed to be making a special guest appearance, just for the two lovers who sat in awe of their magnificence.

"I guess it is pretty cool," Tony admitted.

"You can't see this many stars in the big city," Steve observed.

Tony nodded, then remembered Steve couldn't see him - as good as his serum-enhanced vision might be, the man in the moon was hiding his pale face tonight.

And then, he had a thought.

"You know, much as I hate the lack of sophisticated technology," he said slowly, "I could get used to _this_. Nobody knows we're here …" His index finger traced the back of Steve's arm. "Nobody can hear us …" His mouth brushed Steve's neck. "And nobody - _nobody_ - can interrupt us." He shifted position so that he was sitting in Steve's lap, his legs wound around the larger man's waist.

Tony leaned in, pressing his forehead to his boyfriend's. "So, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he whispered.

Steve, infinitely glad the dark covered his blush, smiled and replied, "Are you thinking of a midnight swim? 'Cause that's what I'm thinking."

"… Are you serious?"

"No, not really."

"Good. Because I would not go into that fucking freezing lake water if you paid me a million bucks."

"But, Tony, you're a billionaire."

The aforementioned billionaire laughed. "Good point."

"So," Steve asked, his voice going husky, "what _are_ you thinking?"

"This."

And then, they were making out - Tony's tongue slid into Steve's mouth, smooth and snakelike and quick as his hands slipping Steve's shirt off of his chest. Steve ran his fingers down Tony's back as he pressed in closer - closer - _closer_. The supersoldier moaned as Tony bent down to taste his bellybutton, then his stomach, then his chest, leaving a trail of red marks that would likely be visible for days.

"Wait," Steve panted, gasping. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, it's night, and we're on a rock …"

"Sex is _always_ a good idea," Tony replied. He hummed a little, then sang softly, his voice low, like a growl, "_Sex is always the answer, it's never a question, 'cause the answer's yes, all the answers're yes._"

Steve stared at Tony, equal parts confused and turned on.

"Oh, right, you don't understand Nickelback, do you?"

Steve continued to stare; Tony took that as a no.

"Well, to say they're not a good band would be the understatement of the century, but this song, I think, is genius." He leaned in, then continued to sing, directly into Steve's ear. "_S is for the simple need, E is for the ecstasy, X is just to mark the spot, 'cause that's the one you really want."_

Tony bit the ear, as though emphasizing the lyrics.

Steve gasped. "_Fuck_ that's hot."

Tony felt his mouth seized, felt his shirt come off, his pants unbuttoned.

_Well,_ he thought, _any concerns Steve had were just thrown right out the window without any parachutes. Success._

They'd done it all before - the making out, the undressing, the touching, tasting, biting - but it was somehow different, better, with their senses heightened by the surrounding darkness and the complete absence of people.

Both men were stripped down to their boxers when they suddenly realized a major disadvantage of having sex on a rock overlooking a lake in the middle of the night: it was easy to fall off.

Or, more accurately, be _pushed_ off.

But by the time Steve and Tony had fully realized this cruel fact, it was already too late; they were rolling off the edge of the rock, right into the water.

As they hit it, Steve with an annoyed sigh and a _splunge_ and Tony with an (INCREDIBLY MANLY) shriek, laughter was audible from somewhere above them.

"Oh, God, this is _so_ going on YouTube once we get home."

"Clint Barton," Tony growled (once he was done screaming, "COLD COLD COLD SHIT MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST THIS IS FUCKING _COLD_"), "you are so dead, your ghost is gonna be dead. And I would think of a better threat, but I'm too fucking _cold_ to because you _pushed_ me into a fucking _lake_."

When they finally clambered out of the lake, Tony was shivering like someone who's been trapped in Antarctica with no clothes and cursing his entire existence, but Steve was laughing, so it wasn't really all that bad. And, later, back in their room, the _this_ continued.

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**A/N: Expect a couple more drabbles based off of the Avengers-retreat idea in the near future.  
**

**And also one about Steve and Tony getting revenge on Clint.  
**

**:)  
**


	7. Cold

**A/N: This one is totally inspired by my sister and one of my cousins, who also had an unbelievable amount of trouble getting into the lake yesterday morning.**

**This one has Clint/Natasha if you squint. (Which reminds me - background pairings, anyone? I haven't written any in yet, but I ship pretty much everything in the Avengers fandom, so I can put something in if anyone has a request.)**

**Enjoy the verbal flailing. :)**

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**7. Cold**

"I cannot believe you guys _still_ haven't gotten into the water yet," Steve said, looking at Tony and Clint.

The Avengers were engaging in a late-morning swim by the Hulk Rock (as they had named it) one morning on their enforced group retreat. Steve was swimming back and forth; Bruce was sitting on a raft a couple hundred feet out in the lake, reading; Thor was teaching himself how to do a handstand; Natasha was swimming around underwater, occasionally popping up in a random place to scare the hell out of someone; and Tony and Clint were still standing on the edge of the Hulk Rock, unwilling to step foot in the water.

"I mean, seriously, it's been _ten minutes_," the supersoldier continued as he passed by the wimps for the fifth time.

"Yeah, but the water's _cold_," Tony protested.

"And the rocks are _slippery_," Clint added. "What if we slip and fall and hit our heads on them? You don't want us to get concussions, do you, Cap?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I think you two can handle it."

"But the water's _cold_!" the two wimps whined in unison. They sounded not unlike a couple of toddlers incapable of trying a new food.

"It's fine once you get in and start swimming," Steve told them. "And besides, if you don't at least get in up to your knees in ten seconds, there won't be any dessert for either of you tonight - and I'm baking pie."

Just like with toddlers, the possibility of no pie quickly gained Tony's and Clint's cooperation - albeit unhappy cooperation. As four legs felt cold lake water and four feet touched muddy lake bottom, two voices screamed.

"COLD COLD COLD COLD COOOOOLD!"

"AAHHH! MUD! MUD EVERYWHERE!"

"I THINK I'M SINKING!"

"COLD IN _ALL_ THE PLACES!"

The two men (or should I say teenage girls) grabbed onto each other's arms for support as they panicked, making high-pitched noises that sounded like the verbal equivalent of flailing.

Thor and Natasha stopped what they were doing to watch; Bruce calmly took out a waterproof camera and began videotaping.

"I do not understand why the Man of Iron and He-Who-Sees-with-the-Eyes-of-a-Hawk are so frightened of this body of water," Thor said. "It seems to be a perfectly friendly beast, easily tamed after a few seconds spent languishing in its icy embrace."

Tony looked at his partner-in-cowardice and said decisively, "Clint, we can do this."

"We can do this," Clint agreed.

"On the count of three, we put our arms in the water."

"Okay."

"One."

"Two."

"THREE - AAAAHHHHH COLD COLD COOOLLLDDD!"

Thor let out a bellow of laughter that echoed around the rocks; Bruce zoomed in the camera to focus on Tony's terrified face; Natasha rolled her eyes and swam silently over to Steve. She whispered something in her captain's ear.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Steve asked quietly. "I mean, they won't be mad at us or anything?"

"They will," she replied, "but it'll be worth it."

Steve thought for a moment, then realized that, yes, it would be.

Tony and Clint were so engaged in the ice-like properties of the lake water that they didn't notice the two schemers creeping up behind them until it was already too late.

With two huge shoves, the wimps found themselves completely submerged in coldness.

**(THE FOLLOWING PART OF THIS STORY HAD TO BE CENSORED OUT BECAUSE OF CURSING, DEATH THREATS, AND KINKY SEX THREATS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF TONY STARK. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE THIS MAY HAVE CAUSED YOU.)**

Clint eventually adjusted to the water after Natasha boasted (well, in the way that Natasha boasts, which is to state something as though it's an absolute fact) that she was by far the faster swimmer. The two assassins swam race after race until Clint eventually gave up, starting an insanely competitive game of water tag instead.

Tony, however, never got over the cold. After a few minutes of forced physical activity, he climbed (with much more effort than really should have been necessary) back onto the Hulk Rock to bask in the sunlight, trying to warm up.

At a lull point in the tag game, Steve clambered up to check on him. The man was invisible to the human eye, as he had no less than six towels creating a blanket around him. He looked a bit like a baby covered in swaddling clothes during the winter.

"Tony?" he asked.

"Tony is too cold to respond to any human contact at the moment," Tony said in a robotic voice from within his cocoon. "Please leave a message after the beep. BEEP."

Steve sighed. "I'm sorry I pushed you in."

Tony was silent.

"What would make it better?" Steve persisted.

"Well, for starters, I hit my toe on a rock climbing back up here," Tony told him after a minute. "You could kiss it better."

"Alright, then, come here, you big baby."

Steve unwrapped one towel after another, looking for the toe, kissing each cold body part as it emerged. When he finally got to Tony's face, he laughed - the man's expression was a combination of annoyed pout and complete bliss.

"My lips're cold, too, y'know," Tony informed his boyfriend.

"Well, we can't have that, can we."


	8. Canoeing

**Here, have another one inspired by my family reunion. Tony does not like canoes, and, apparently, the feeling is mutual. xD**

**(By the way, expect another one of these about the mentioned rope swing by tomorrow or so. I'm on a roll, bitches. B-| )**

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**8. Canoeing**

"Are you _sure_ this is safe?"

Tony eyed the strange, vaguely banana-shaped, metal, floating object bobbing in the water next to him with trepidation.

Steve chuckled. For someone who prided himself on being up-to-date with the newest technology, Tony knew surprisingly little about less modern contraptions. "Yes, I'm sure," the supersoldier said condescendingly.

To emphasize his point, Steve gave the straps of his life jacket one extra tightening pull (for good measure) and hopped into the canoe with a single smooth, graceful movement.

Sure, the sudden addition of his weight sent the small boat rocking and banging against the dock, but, well, that was only to be expected. And it wasn't as though he'd fallen out or anything.

Tony, however, was not convinced. "See? You just got in, and it rocked all over the place! If I get in, it'll tip over for sure, and I'll have to get _wet_. That can't be safe!"

"Since when have you only done things that were safe?" Steve countered.

He had a good point, but Tony didn't give in that easily. "And where are we going, again?" he asked. "Some rope swing?"

"Clint and Tasha said it was really fun."

"Their idea of fun does not always correspond with my idea of fun."

"Oh, come on, Tony," Steve pleaded. "Just get in. It's perfectly safe. Canoeing is fun."

Tony crossed his arms. "I don't believe you."

His boyfriend grinned. "Then I'll just have to persuade you, won't I?"

Of course, Steve could always use his infamous puppy-dog eyes, but that was getting a little old, and besides, if he used them too often, Tony might build up an immunity. Better to do something that would show Tony that canoeing wasn't dangerous _and_ knock his socks off.

Oh, this was too easy.

Steve stood up in the boat, grabbing onto the dock for support with one hand and onto Tony with the other. He dragged the smaller man forward until they were mere inches apart; Steve could hear Tony's rapidly accelerating breathing when he mashed their lips together.

Steve hadn't been the best kisser when he and Tony had started dating, but he was getting better. Judging by the bulge he could feel growing in Tony's pants, _much_ better.

Tony forgot where he was, what he was supposed to be doing, everything except a need to be _closer._

_Closer, closer, closer._

He stepped forward.

_Rock._

_Tilt._

_SPLASH._

"AAAAH WATER COLD WATER COLD COLD COLD COOOOOOOLD WATER STEVE HELP ME I'M DROWNING STEEEEEEEEEBE WHERE ARE YOU I NEED YOU I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SWIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMM –"

Well, maybe that wasn't the best plan Steve had ever had.

The sight of Tony thrashing around in three-foot-deep water was hilarious, though, even if he probably would never going to step foot in a canoe again.


	9. Doodle

**This one was inspired by my lovely friends, who doodled on me the other night when we were having an impromptu end-of-summer-party-that-turned-into-a-My-Little-Pony-marathon. (My right leg still says "CHEESE!" And my knees still have smiley faces.)**

**(And yes, the one about the rope swing is still coming. I CAN WRITE OUT OF ORDER IF I WANT, BECAUSE I'M OWLINAMINOR, BETCHES.)  
**

**(...)  
**

**(It sounds better when Tony Stark says it ...)  
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**9. Doodle  
**

It was a long lecture about boring shit.

All of their meetings were long lectures about boring shit, really, but this one was just _so long_ and about _such boring shit_ that even Steve, the champion of honesty and generosity and paying attention to his superiors even when everyone else just wanted to go home and deplete Tony's alcohol stash, was bored.

"Hey, Tony. Hey, hey Tony. Tony. Tonyyyyy~"

Tony glanced up from his smart phone to find his big, blond, champion of a boyfriend poking his shoulder and _staring_ at him with eyes that could only be described as _holy fucking shit that is the most adorable fucking thing I have ever seen in my entire goddamn life and I will do anything he wants me to do, any fucking thing, even if it involves taking sex and alcohol and coffee out of my life indefinitely._

"Can I draw on your arm?" Steve asked.

Tony looked at his arm. Then back to Steve. Then at his arm. Then back to Steve. Then at his arm. Then back to Steve.

(Unfortunately, Steve didn't magically appear on a different object. The moral of this story, kids? Don't trust the Old Spice guy. HE IS MISLEADING YOU.)

But anyway.

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Steve's eyes lit up, and honestly, Tony had no idea why drawing on someone's arm brought so much pleasure to him, but he was really cute when he made that face, so whatever.

The star-spangled man didn't have a plan, exactly, but he did have a Sharpie, so he set out to make his boyfriend's arm into a masterpiece.

And a masterpiece he made.

"Um, Stark? Why does it say 'PROPERTY OF CAPTAIN STEVE ROGERS, ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOWED' on your arm?"

"I dunno, because Steve couldn't reach my ass?"


	10. Rope Swing

**At last, the promised rope swing drabble! Enjoy, everyone.**

**Oh, and also: I'm sure you've noticed that this one was a while in coming. Well, that's because school has started. School = homework = less free time for the Owl. Plus, I joined the cross country team at my school, which means even less free time (not to mention running a couple of miles every day. Joy upon joys. .) I still plan on updating this story/drabble collection/thing at least once a week, though – just expect a new drabble or two every weekend, probably. :)**

**(In other news: I'm working on a potential Clintasha multi-chapter fic, as well. I'll certainly let you guys know if it gets posted.)**

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**9. Rope Swing**

The rope swing was too short, hard to reach, had too few knots in it, dangled twenty feet above the lake, and required a climb nothing short of scaling a wet, muddy cliff to reach. A slip on the climb up, a premature release of the rope, a bad landing, or one of hundred other little mistakes could lead to very painful consequences. Going off it was probably the least safe activity in ten miles.

Which was exactly why the Avengers had assembled to spend an afternoon there.

"Dibs first!"

"Hey, no fair! You've already been off it a bunch of times!"

"So? I still have dibs."

"I believe that the Man of Iron is justified in his argument. The Man with the Eyes of a Hawk has previously reaped the joyful benefits of this structure, and, as a result, should wait until the rest of the team has flown on the wings of this piece of rope before he reaps those benefits again. That seems to me the only justifiable plan of action."

"See? Someone agrees with me! And I should go first, because I had to suffer a long, terrifying canoe ride to get here."

"As the only Asgardian God present, the Crown Prince of Asgard, and someone who is most definitely not terrified of a friendly journey by oblong boat, _I_ should go first. It is my birthright."

"No fucking way. Your birthright gets you a lot of things, Thor, but it doesn't get you first on this swing. That position is _mine_."

"Are you interested in jousting for the position?"

"Damn right I'm interested."

"BOYS! Stop bickering right now! We all know that as the Captain, I should go first to test the swing, make sure it's safe for all of you."

"It's perfectly safe, I was on it yesterday, and by the way, _I still have dibs_."

"Guys," Bruce piped up nervously from his position hanging on to a tree at the back of the line.

Nobody heard him, of course. Honestly, he might as well have been invisible. Or Canadian.

"Guys," he said repeated, louder. They still didn't hear him.

"Guuuuuys."

Still nothing.

"SHUT UP BEFORE I HULK OUT AND RIP THE ROPE SWING TO SHREDS."

Ah. Now _that_ was effective.

Although they were all _staring _at him … That was a little unnerving …

Before he could lose his cool for real, Bruce asked the very important question that had required the team's attention in the first place:

"Has anyone seen Natasha?"

Everyone looked around, and … huh. The master assassin was nowhere to be seen.

They wasted a full ten minutes scanning the top of the cliff next to the rope swing, even peeking underneath rocks and into the tops of trees. The whole search turned out to be pointless, however, when a small chuckle was audible from beneath them.

The Avengers leaned over the edge of the cliff to find their missing member treading water in the lake, next to her canoe.

"I solved your problem," she called up to them, her normally-expressionless face pulled into a rare grin. "I went first. So now you all can stop arguing about it."

Actually, Natasha's actions only provoked a debate about how she'd managed to climb up a tree, grab the rope swing, and go off without anyone noticing, and an even more heated debate about who would go second.

In the end, it was agreed that they would all go off in a completely random order the first round, but that first round would decide what the order would be from then on out through a "Battle for the Most Astounding, Thunderous, Fearful, Bloodcurdling, and Generally Army-Rousing Cry to War." (It was Thor's idea, which explained the unnecessarily long name.) Natasha would judge, since she was Natasha and nobody wanted to be in a contest with her after the Unfortunate Darts Incident of the previous May.

Thor went first, since it had been his idea, with a cry of something Asgardian that nobody else understood but nonetheless was the most astounding, thunderous, fearful, bloodcurdling, and generally army-rousing sound they had ever heard.

Clint went second, with a cry of "CAW CAW, MOTHERFUCKEEEEERRRRRRRRRSSSS S!"

Bruce went third, with a cry of "DON'T MAKE ME ANGRYYYYYYYY!"

And then, it was Steve's turn.

"But I don't know what to say!" he whispered anxiously to Tony. "Everyone else's war-cries have been so good, I'll do terrible, I just know it."

"It's all right, Cap," Tony assured him. "You'll do fine."

"No, I won't!"

"Yes, you will."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm in love with you," the genius explained matter-of-factly. "And do you really think I'd fall in love with someone who couldn't kick ass in a war-cry contest? Honestly, Steve. Who do you take me for?"

Steve laughed. "You have a good point. Thanks." He gave his boyfriend a quick kiss.

Tony smiled. "Anytime."

"I still don't know what to say, though," the supersoldier admitted.

"Just jump, and it'll come to you."

"You're sure?"

"Over nine thousand percent positive. I'm still gonna win, though."

"Oh, we'll see about that," Steve retorted, grabbing the rope with a confident grin that made Tony wonder at how lucky he was.

And he was off.

"AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Good, but still not as good as mine will be, and totally predictable, for Steve," Tony said to himself.

"Are you guys ready for this?" he shouted down to the rest of the team. "'Cause I don't think you are."

"I think we can handle it," Clint called back. "As there's no way in hell your war-cry's as epic as mine."

"Just hear it."

Everyone was watching, everyone was listening, everyone was waiting. Natasha was even _filming_, though where she'd kept the camera was beyond anyone. Time seemed to slow down as Tony grabbed the rope … backed up farther on the cliff … bent his knees … gave a shit-eating grin for good measure … pushed off … and _yelled_, like his life depended on it:

"STEVE'S AAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Tony won, of course.

And the Bruce got so angry that he Hulked out during his next turn on the swing. The poor swing, unable to take his weight, broke under the stress.

(It was all worth it, though – for the adorable blush that'd been on Steve's face when Tony resurfaced after jumping in.)

**Steve's Ass: Breaking Rope Swings Since 2012.**


	11. Pie

**So, the lovely **_**The-storm-chasers**_ **requested the first time Tony said "I love you" to Steve, and it was such a cute request that I wrote it almost immediately. (Took me another couple of days to type it, though, because such is my life at the moment.)**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

**10. Pie**

Tony was attracted to the kitchen by the smell of pie like a fangirl to a "LIVE YAOI" sign. He took a moment to appreciate the fine supersoldier ass currently bending over to take aforementioned pie out of the oven – then decided that simply _appreciating _it wasn't enough; he had to feel it.

"Ah! Tony! Careful, I almost dropped the pie!"

"Sorry, Cap," Tony whispered, winding his arms around his boyfriend from the back and pressing a kiss to the back of the blond man's neck.

Shaking him off ("Aww, Steeeeb, why are you so meeeeaaan to me~?"), Steve turned to place the pie on the counter, so that it would cool.

Tony was debating how painful stealing a taste might be when he noticed something …

"What are those … designs? Are those … our symbols?"

Steve blushed. "Maybe?"

Tony examined the pie more closely. It was, indeed, decorated; each sixth of the pie had a different symbol: Thor's hammer, Clint's bow, a black widow for Natasha, a radiation symbol for Bruce, Steve's shield, and Tony's arc reactor.

"They _are_! Holy shit, Steve, how long did this take you?"

"Um, half an hour?" Steve says, almost inquisitively. He then proceeds to go on about how he had to label the pieces so that nobody would take more than his or her fair share, because for a group of exceedingly intelligent superheroes, the Avengers were really bad at that, and he'd decided to draw symbols instead of just writing their names, and it had turned into this whole art project, and –

And Tony stood there, staring at this amazing, kind, generous, beautiful, _perfect_ man in front of him, wondering how he could ever hope to deserve him, and it just sort-of slipped out.

"I love you."

"… What?"

Tony backtracked in his mind – _oh, shit_. He looked down at his feet – barefoot, huh, he could've sworn he was wearing shoes earlier – and muttered, "Don't make me say it again." Suddenly more nervous, he added, "Or do you not want me to? Did I say that too fast? Sorry, it just sort-of slipped out, I didn't mean to make things go too fast, I know you like to take it more slowly –"

The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist suddenly found it very difficult to continue rambling, as his mouth was otherwise occupied.

"I love you, too," Steve said a full ten minutes later, pressing his forehead to Tony's and grinning that stupid grin that momentarily made Tony forget who he was.

Tony couldn't help but smile back, feeling a warm, almost fuzzy feeling fill his chest up to bursting.

"I was too scared to say it first, actually," the supersoldier admitted, blushing adorably. "So, thanks, for letting it slip out like that. And don't you even _think_ that you can't say it, because I love you back. So much."

"Say that again," Tony commanded.

"I love you."

"Mmm." Tony kissed along the side of Steve's face, savoring the feeling and the taste and the warmth and the joy and the _Steve_. "Again."

"I love you."

Tony kissed Steve's chest, over his heart. "Again."

"I love you."

"Again," Tony whispered hoarsely into Steve's ear, giving it a little lick.

"I love you."

Tony pulled Steve's right hand from where it dangled absently at his side and kissed its palm gently, like a prince greeting a magnificent princess. Looking directly into those huge baby blues, he said, as though stating an obvious fact, "You are so goddamned beautiful, Steve, and I motherfucking _adore_ you."

And _fuck_, you could fit fucking _galaxies_ into that smile.

"Say that again?" Steve asked.

"Of course. Anything for you, love. You're beautiful, and I adore you."

Unfortunately, in the time that they spent making out, Clint had made off with the pie, but whatever.

He was just jealous of their amazing, sexy, badass-beyond-compare love life. Yeah.


	12. Revenge

**I needed to make up for all the fluff of that last one, so, here, have some funny.**

**(AND LOOK AT THIS! Two new drabbles in one night! Thank you, thank you, ladies and gents. *bows*)**

* * *

**11. Revenge**

One morning, Tony and Steve stored into the kitchen, grinning, laughing, slapping high fives, and generally looking like Fred and George Weasley after a successfully pulled-off prank.

"You're up early, Tony," Natasha remarked over her morning coffee.

The genius in questions shrugged. "Well, y'know, sometimes, there are benefits to the torture of rising before noon."

"Wow, never thought I'd hear you say that," Bruce said.

"What are the benefits of which you speak?" Thor inquired, grabbing himself a box of poptarts.

"Oh, you'll see in a minute," Steve answered, raising an eyebrow and winking in a strangely un-Steve-like manner.

And, well, a minute later, they _did_ see. Because Clint Barton, jubilant and irritating and freshly showered, entered the room.

Tony and Steve immediately burst into hysterical laughter, the sort that goes on for at least ten minutes and leaves all participants breathless and liable to start laughing again at any second. Bruce hid his giggles behind his hand. Natasha even went so far as to crack a smile.

Thor simply looked confused.

"What?" Clint asked. "What's so funny?"

Tony, Steve, and Bruce all pointed at him, as though that explained everything, while Natasha simply rolled her eyes.

"I must inform you, He-Who-Possesses-the-Eyes-of-a-Hawk," Thor began, "I am equally bemused as to why the Man of Iron, the Captain of America, and He-Who-Sometimes-Becomes-a-Hulking-Green-Monster find amusing. I do not find anything particularly amusing. In fact, I applaud you. Tales will be told and songs sung of the glorious day that a man who had previously been spotted only in dark, somber colors was courageous enough to perform such rituals on his hair that it became that most beauteous of colors, pink."

"Wait …" Clint said slowly, mentally translating Thor-speak into normal English in his head, "did he just say that my hair was _pink_?"

Unable to speak, Tony simply nodded.

Clint's face went white, as though all of its color had been sucked out.

"Pink … hair …"

He practically sprinted to the nearest bathroom.

The scream when he saw his own reflection in the mirror – with sparkly, bright, neon pink hair, no less – could be heard for miles around.

It took Tony and Steve fifteen minutes and twenty-five seconds to stop laughing.

"We are geniuses," Tony proclaimed.

"No, you are," Steve argued. "It was your idea."

The genius grinned. "Yeah, good point. Hey, wanna have we-totally-got-revenge-on-that-asshole-and-it-was-fucking-hilarious sex?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Just take it to the bedroom, would you?" Bruce asked.

* * *

**Someone, please draw me a picture of Clint with pink hair. I would love you forever. And maybe write you a one-shot. xD**


	13. Stevenapping

**The idea for this one came from a PM conversation with the amazing _Tiili97_ (for whom I will also be writing a Pottervengers one-shot, because her reviews are some of the nicest reviews I've gotten from anyone, ever.)**

**In other news: It's currently raining where I am. RAAAAAAAAIIIINNNN~!**

**Hmm. Perhaps I should write a drabble about what Steve and Tony do when it rains. What do you guys think?**

* * *

**13. Stevenapping**

Tony and Steve were walking together one evening in the city, eating shawarma (as Steve had become sort-of obsessed with the stuff), Steve half-listening to Tony rant about the yacht he was renovating.

"… And I simply cannot comprehend why they can't paint it in the Iron Man colors. I mean, I'm Tony fucking Stark, I should be able to paint my yacht whatever colors I want, _especially_ the colors of my super-suit. It shouldn't matter whether red and gold is a 'conventional color scheme' or not. I'm too awesome to be _conventional_, don't you think, Steve?"

He turned to Steve for his opi – wait, where was Steve?

The genius surveyed the surrounding area, not panicking not panicking _totally definitely all the way_ not panicking; the street looked completely normal – two lines of shops, a few people wandering here and there, a sidewalk dotted with trash and trees and graffiti – except for the distinct lack of Steve.

"Steve?" Tony called.

No answer.

"Cap? Rogers? Steeeeeeeeeeebe?"

Still no answer …

Well, this wasn't worrying at _all._

Tony slowly spun in place, searching for his boyfriend, the shawarma forgotten in his hand. He was on his third spin when his sunglass-shaded eyes caught a glimpse of blond hair retreating into a nearby alley.

Mentally cursing himself for not bringing the suit with him, the brunette man charged into the alley to find himself confronting … a group of teenage girls.

Wait. This couldn't be right.

Steve couldn't have been tied up, gagged, blindfolded, and dragged into an empty alley by four _teenage girls._

It simply wasn't possible.

And yet … there they were. One cute, Asian girl in bright red skinny jeans, one short, Latina girl in a pretty, floral dress, one kind-of intimidating-looking girl with long hair dyed neon green, and one girl with uneven, brown braids, the biggest, most Russian nose Tony had ever seen, and a video camera, all tugging a rope attached to some part of the supersoldier's body.

"What the hell?" Tony asked, once he got over the shock factor of _my boyfriend is being kidnapped by teenage girls._

Steve made a muffled noise that might have been, "Tony!" but nobody was really sure. (Gags tend to do that.)

"Steve, how the _fucking hell_ did you let them kidnap you?!" Tony demanded. "They're four _girls_. You could take them down with one hand behind your back!"

"He didn't want to hurt us, since we're young girls," Nose Girl explained. Tony didn't like her. She was conniving, and only _awesome _people like him were allowed to be conniving.

"Unluckily for you, I have no such stupid forties morals," he said, grinning and preparing to kick some fangirl ass.

But then, Green-Haired Girl pouted and made her eyes really wide – into the sort of puppy dog eyes that he'd thought only Steve was capable of producing. "B-b-but, you wouldn't really … h-h-_hurt_ us, would you, Mr. Stark?" she stuttered, pleading.

"You couldn't do that, could you, Mr. Stark?" Red Skinny Jeans Girl added, making her eyes as wide as an Asian's eyes can go (which wasn't that wide, but still mercy-inducing.)

"You're a nice man, Mr. Stark, aren't you?" Dress Girl said, looking up at him with an expression that could be only described as "pleading."

… Well. Fuck.

He'd just have to talk his way out of this one.

"You're just gonna have to give him back, then," Tony said in his most intimidating voice. "'Cause, y'see, this Steve, this one right here," he gestured at the Steve in question, "is mine. Mine, do you understand the meaning of that word? _Mine._ You can't have him. I'm sure there are other Steves in the world – hell, you can probably buy them off the Internet if you really want to, or you can buy life-sized pillows or cardboard cutouts of Steves or weird shit like that – and you can have them, I don't really give a shit, but take _this_ one, and you're in big trouble, missies. Because he isn't yours for the taking. This red, white, and blue piece of fine ass (and all of the wonderful qualities that go along with him) are for me and me alone. So give him back. Right now."

Red Skinny Jeans Girl looked like she might be getting a nosebleed; Green-Haired Girl and Dress Girl were applauding and letting out squeals high-pitched enough to break glass.

Nose Girl was not impressed. She looked at Tony, as though inspecting him to make sure he wasn't kidding, and then decided, "Give us five minutes."

Five (agonizingly, painfully long) minutes later, it was agreed that Tony was allowed to take Steve back if and only if the two of them let Nose Girl film them making out.

The make-out session itself was more than a bit embarrassing and the subsequent video they found posted on YouTube and playing on several prominent news stations the next day even more so, but it was totally worth it.

Because, now, it was an indisputable fact that Steve was _Tony's_.


	14. Grassy Hill

**This one is for Kris (or _IgneusGlacies_, if you want to stalk her.) I can be nostalgic, too, you know. :)**

* * *

**14. Grassy Hill**

Steve and Tony were in Central Park one afternoon, because Steve had wanted to sketch some pretty flowers and Tony figured he should probably get outside (as he'd been cooped in the workshop for the past couple of days), and besides, Steve's Concentrating Face was really cute. So, they found a spot on top of a huge, grassy hill dotted with beds of roses and violets, and Steve began to sketch, while Tony took out his phone and played around with possibilities for a new robot he was working on.

It was this sort of moment – this easy, companionable silence – that made Steve think that he was glad he'd been frozen in the ice for seventy years, because even though he missed all of his old friends and Peggy and the life he'd wanted back then, he had Tony, and wasn't that enough? And a thought occurred to him, a memory of something he used to do, back then, when he was a kid.

"Hey, Tony."

"Yeah?" Tony replied absentmindedly.

"Have you ever rolled down a hill?"

"What?" This made Tony look up, slightly bemused.

"Rolled down a hill," Steve repeated. "You know, a big, grassy hill, like this one. I used to do it when I was a kid – it's really fun."

Tony was wearing his Steve, You're Weird Face. "But wouldn't your clothes get dirty?" he asked.

"I guess," Steve admitted; he'd never really thought about that before. "But that doesn't matter! Are you seriously telling me you've never done it?"

"Um, yeah," Tony said. "What's so bad about it?"

"I dunno, it's just one of those things that I thought everyone had done."

Tony grinned – the one that openly said Bitch Please, I'm Tony Stark but had this undercurrent of sadness that made Steve want to hug him. "I guess I'm not everyone."

"Well, you're going to try it now," Steve decided.

"I am?"

"You are."

"But I don't want to," Tony whined.

"Please, for me?" Steve pleaded. "It'll be fun. Just watch me."

And with those words, Steve abandoned his notebook, flipped over onto his side, and gave himself a big push down the hill. It was a perfect hill for rolling down, really – soft and grassy, without any annoying rocks or roots or mole-holes blocking his way – and Steve remembered how much he used to enjoy this. He whooped with joy, laughing as the grass tickled his face.

Tony watched his stupid, indescribable, amazing boyfriend roll down a hill like a fucking five-year-old, and wondered what he found so fun about it. It looked a bit painful to him, to be honest.

But, on the other hand, Steve clearly loved it. And if Steve loved it, then Tony had to at least give it a try. That was one of the rules of good relationships, right?

"Okay, you lovable asshat, here I goooooooo!" Tony called.

And – oh. _That_ was why Steve loved this.

Tony felt as though his world was being turned upside-down and spun all around until he couldn't recognize anything any more – but not in a bad kind of way, in a good kind of way. In a _Steve_ kind of way.

Soon enough, Tony found himself lying flat on his back in the grass at the bottom of the hill, staring up into the grinning face of the best man he'd ever known.

"See? Told you it'd be fun," Steve said, extending a hand to help Tony up.

The old Tony, the pre-Steve Tony, would've grumbled about how he didn't really enjoy it, he was only pretending to; the old Tony would've moaned that his clothes were ruined with grass stains; the old Tony would've gotten up himself, and then stormed off, back to Stark Tower; the old Tony would've never admitted what he really felt.

The new Tony, the post-Steve Tony, the Tony who'd had his world turned upside down and spun all around in good kind of way, didn't do any of those things.

Instead, Tony grabbed Steve's hand and used it to pull its owner down into the grass on top of him, then tickled his face with kisses until Steve grinned against his mouth, murmured, "I could do this all day."

"Let's," Tony whispered back, not sure if he meant the kissing or the rolling but not particularly caring, because he loved both.

* * *

**In other news, I'm currently pretty sick. Which is – I'm not complaining or anything – _so_ not fun. But reviews help me to get better~! *hint hint* ;)**


	15. Movie Night

**This one's in honor of the DVD release. BECAUSE NOW WE CAN ALL OGGLE ALL OF THE AVENGERS' BEAUTIFUL ASSES IN THE COMFORT OF OUR OWN HOMES. Let there be shawarma of celebration. xD**

**(Also, I would like to document the fact that this story currently has 69 reviews. Sixty-freaking-nine. Thank you, all of you lovely reviewers, you. ^_^)**

* * *

**15. Movie Night**

Steve was sitting on the couch, idly channel-surfing while he waited for Tony to come home from his meeting, when everything went black.

Hyper-senses analyzed every detail of his position: large, heavy hands were covering his eyes and the sides of his face, but other than that, nothing had changed. Oh, wait, correction: he could hear faint laughter.

"Guess who~?" a familiar voice asked.

The supersoldier sighed. "Really, Tony?"

Steve's eyesight returned, to be immediately monopolized by a grinning face coming in for a hello kiss.

"I've got a surprise for you, Steve," Tony said cheerfully, once he was done short-circuiting Steve's brain with his mouth-maneuvering prowess (_how did he still do that, they'd been dating for months already._)

"It's not an … _expensive_ surprise, is it?" Steve asked warily.

Tony rolled his eyes. "No, it's not, unless you call twenty bucks expensive. Well, actually, I don't know, prices _have_ escalated quite a lot since the forties –"

"Just show it to me," Steve said, starting to get a little curious. Tony had given up on getting him "surprises" since he'd given back anything he considered too expensive.

"Have a little patience, Cap," Tony shot back, grinning playfully. "I didn't get a proper 'hello' from you."

Steve thought for a second, then grabbed his boyfriend by the collar and dragged him in for a kiss. "Is that proper enough for you?" he inquired a couple of minutes later.

"Um … I'm, uh, suffering from short-term memory loss," Tony panted, "so you're going to have to remind me what we were talking about."

"You had a surprise for me," Steve prompted.

"Surpri – oh! Right." The genius pulled a DVD case out of his briefcase. "Since tonight's movie night, I brought us a new movie to watch. Look."

Upon closer examination, the picture on the DVD case appeared to feature … Tony, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Thor, Fury, and the Hulk.

"But … I don't remember us filming a movie," Steve said, a little confused.

"That's because it's a documentary, stupid," Tony replied. "It's about the time Loki invaded and we sort-of broke Manhattan."

"Those actors look so much like us, though!"

"It's the twenty-first century, Cap. With a little make-up and special effects, it's pretty easy to make some actors that only sort-of look like us look exactly like us," Tony explained. "But I'm sure they had to use a lot of make-up and special effects for the guy playing me. _Nobody_ is anywhere near as handsome as I am, right, Steve?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure. Whatever puts you to sleep at night."

"_Steve_! Was that _sarcasm_? I'm wounded!"

"Let's just … watch the movie, okay?"

The movie was surprisingly accurate. Scarily accurate, even. Accurate enough to make Steve wonder how many hidden cameras S.H.I.E.L.D. really had. It was basically exactly what had happened (with a few minor fluctuations in dialogue and the like), only with slow-motion and an epic soundtrack.

And, much as he tried, Steve couldn't get Tony to stay quiet so that he could enjoy the movie.

"HAHAHA – CLINT – NEST – I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY PUT THAT ON FILM."

"Remind me never to mess with Natasha ever again."

"Steve. Your ass. I don't even – _never go near a punching bag again_, okay? Unless you're naked and I'm the only person around, of course."

"Wow. I'm hot."

"Hey, Cap, notice how the movie isn't funny at all until I show up? Notice how funny and likeable and generally all-around awesome I am?"

"'Not today.' Steve, you are too precious for words."

"… Oh, my God, did was there really that much sexual tension between us? I can't believe nobody locked us in a closet together and didn't let us out until we had wild, passionate, animalistic sex. I'm disappointed in Clint, really."

"NO, COULSON. NOOOOOO."

"Thor is an idiot."

"Aw, Bruce. Bruuuuuce."

"God, Natasha, it was _definitely_ a party."

"Oh. We got to _that_ part. _Oh_. Time for me to almost die."

"… Steve, are you crying?"

Steve hid his face in his arm, embarrassed. "No," he muttered.

Tony paused the movie, then Steve felt an arm surround him, warmth and comfort and safety. "What's wrong?" the genius asked softly.

"It's … nothing."

"If it's making you cry, it's not nothing."

"Well, it's just … just …" Steve couldn't say it. He gestured at the screen.

"The movie?" Tony inquired. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"No, it's good," Steve corrected him. "_Too_ good. Just like … what really happened."

And, well, they didn't call Tony a genius for nothing. "_Oh_," he exhaled. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to watch this with me."

Steve looked at his boyfriend – kind and brave and smart and alive and _here_ – and wiped away his tears, gave a small smile. "No, it's okay. It's good, really – to have you here, watching this with me. So now, the memory of _that_ will be subdued by the memory of _this_."

"You're sure? We can stop watching, if you like."

"I'm sure."

But Steve squeezed Tony's hand, squeezed it so tightly Tony thought it might turn purple and come off, until the Tony on-screen opened his eyes and asked if the Avengers had ever tried shawarma.

And when Tony saw the bonus shot at the end and screamed, "SHAWARMAAAA!" loudly enough for people in adjacent buildings to hear him, no reprimand was heard from his star-spangled boyfriend.


	16. Pachelbel's Kanon

**My boyfriend broke up with me earlier today, so here, have some angst. (There's fluff at the end though, don't worry. I could never write pure Superhusbands angst. It goes against my religion.)**

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**16. Pachelbel's Kanon**

_C, G, a, e, F, C, F, G._

_It isn't hard to be alone, really, when nobody likes you and everybody blames you. Sometimes, you can convince yourself that it'll be okay, but other times, it's so hard, because you only have yourself, and you just aren't enough, and you end up crying alone on a piano bench somewhere, wishing you had someone but not knowing how to find anyone._

_When you're lonely, the best piano piece to play is something beautiful, something in a major key, something that comforts you, something you know better than you know yourself and can keep playing even when the tears are running down your face._

"**Well, maybe it's not your dad's fault, Tony. Maybe if you'd been more open or more nice to him, he'd have been a better father."**

"Tony?" Steve called into the long, dead silence, his stupid, unthoughtful words ringing in his ears like blasts from a gun. "Tony, where are you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'll make it up to you … Just, please, where are you?"

Steve heard his voice crack on the last word, wondered absently if he was crying – but that didn't matter, nothing mattered except finding Tony and telling him that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it before … before Tony started thinking that Steve didn't love him.

_But why_, Steve wondered, _**why**__ do we have to live in such a gigantic house with way too many rooms and whole extra floors that nobody knows about except Tony (and probably Natasha, because she's Natasha like that) – floors that Tony can just disappear into when he's feeling hurt, and now I can't find him – and all of these things that nobody knows where they come from or what they do and strange piano music that seems to come from nowhere._

Wait. Strange piano music that seemed to come from nowhere…

Steve didn't think Tony played the piano, but who else could it be? Who else would know where a piano even was in this huge, confusing house?

So, the supersoldier followed his super-ears to the origin of the music, and found himself in a small, cluttered room. The room wasn't cluttered because it was full of objects – quite the opposite, in fact. It was filled with one object – one grand piano, to be precise – that filled up the entire space, with barely enough room for a bench and absolutely no room for Steve. The piano was dusty, the windows badly needed cleaning, and the walls could use a new coat of paint, but the man seated on the piano bench was playing as though he sat in Carnegie Hall.

His fingers were long and calloused – clearly those of an expert. His right hand moved quickly, in chords and single notes and rhythms that tumbled into each other, melodies combining and growing greater like a snowball rolling down a mountain. His left hand, meanwhile, kept a steady tempo, the same eight chords repeated over and over again, grounding the wild, crazy right hand.

And then the left hand stopped, all of a sudden, and played single notes, long single notes that seemed to tremble with feeling even as they decrescendoed down into one final fermata – and Steve Rogers noticed that the pianist's face was stained with salt water.

Tony Stark lifted his hands from the keys and replaced them with his head, closing his eyes and resting there for a moment, as though he could absorb the last echoes of the piece from the instrument he'd used to play it.

He decided that a memory of the melodies wasn't enough; he had to play them again. He was about to commence when he noticed something – or some_body_ – out of the corner of his eye.

"Steve?"

The star-spangled man grinned weakly and raised a hand in greeting. "Hi."

"How long …" Tony's voice trailed off, like a fermata cut short.

"Have I been standing here?" Steve guessed. "A while. Long enough to hear that you're amazing – Tony, why did you never tell me you could play the piano?"

"Fuck." Tony placed his head into his hands – and he suddenly looked very small on the piano bench, small and hurt and alone. "Fuck. You weren't supposed to see that."

The sight of Tony's pain reminded Steve of his reason for being there in the first place. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "so sorry, I didn't mean it, I don't ever want to hurt you, Tony –"

"Shut up!" the pianist exclaimed, suddenly infuriated, whirling around to face his scared boyfriend with a terrifying look in his chocolate-brown eyes. "Shut up, will you? You aren't sorry. Nobody ever is. But let me tell you – tell you why nobody knows I play the piano. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve whispered.

"My dad made me do it," Tony continued, his voice harsh and angry. "Thought if I practiced, it'd be an hour less he had to worry about me bothering him. I hated all of my teachers, of course – went through at least twenty – until this one lady came along. Masha, her name was. Russian lady, escaped when it was still Communist, and strict as balls. Wouldn't take my shit. And the very first lesson, she played George Winston's Variations on the Kanon by Pachelbel – that's the piece you just heard, fuck you – for me, and said, 'If you work hard, someday, maybe, you can play this.' And that gave me a fucking _goal_, something I could work towards, not just one crappy piece at a time, and I worked hard, and I did it. The day I played that piece for her and she said it was not bad – because 'not bad' from her meant 'as close to perfect as is humanly possible' – was the proudest day of my life, prouder than the day I graduated from M.I.T. or built my first engine or took over the company or any of that shit. 'Cause it made me realize that I was _Tony fucking Stark_ and I could do anything if I just put my mind to it. And one day, while I was practicing Pachelbel's Kanon, I could hear my parents arguing. That was nothing new – I'd heard them every other time I'd practiced. Usually, I stopped to listen, and I would end up feeling lonely and like there was something wrong with me and it was all my fault until I broke down and cried, right here on the piano bench –"

The image of a young Tony crying alone made Steve want to run up and hug him and never let go – but he couldn't, he couldn't risk making Tony mad at him again, he had to wait until the end of the story.

"– but this time, I didn't. I just kept playing. Because even if I didn't have anybody, I had Pachelbel's Kanon. And that fucking piano piece was more safe and calm and comforting than both of my parents put together. Playing it made me feel less alone. And so whenever they started arguing again after that, I'd run up here and play Pachelbel's Kanon, over and over, until they stopped. When I moved out, I stopped playing it as much, but wherever I went, I'd find a piano somewhere, somewhere out of the way, and I'd still play it every so often – whenever I felt lonely or unwanted – and it would make me feel … not happy, but better. Safer. Calmer, at least. I played it a lot after Pepper and I broke up. I haven't played it at all since I met you. Well, that's changed now, hasn't it?"

Tony laughed, bitter and depressed, and it almost broke Steve's heart.

"I don't know if my dad was a better man than I am, like you think, Steve, or if his apathy towards me was my fault, but I do know that he and my mom were such bad parents that I can play Pachelbel's Kanon perfectly now, without a single wrong note, even though it's been fucking _months_ since the last time I played it."

Steve didn't try to rationalize Tony's hurt as his own fault this time, didn't try to blame Tony in order to inoculate his father; instead, he sprinted to the piano bench in long, desperate strides, wrapped his arms around his beautiful, broken boyfriend, and held on for dear life, held on until he could forget the sight of Tony crying. And it occurred to Steve that the feeling of Tony's body in his arms was so perfect, so right, that his arms would forever feel empty afterwards.

Steve could almost have been happy, except for that heartbreaking image still locked in his mind (of a younger Tony alone on that same piano bench), and he didn't even realize that he was sobbing silently until he registered Tony's comforting words:

"Shhh, Capsicle, shhh. It's okay. I'm okay. You don't need to cry for me. I'm sorry."

When he found that his head was no longer an attachment of Tony's shoulder, Steve stared into his boyfriend's eyes, attempting to convey the depths of his apology through mental telepathy or something.

"You shouldn't be apologizing," he said, his voice clear – the voice of a Captain. "I should. I said something wrong, and cold, and hurtful, and I am _so sorry_, Tony. I love you, and I couldn't stand it if you were mad at me, but I'd understand if you don't forgive me."

"Steve." The way Tony said it, it sounded like a reverence. "Of course I forgive you." The pianist pressed a kiss to the other man's forehead, more tender than any touch he'd ever received himself, and Steve suddenly felt like a little kid again – a loved, protected little kid.

"You aren't mad at me?" he asked, just to be sure.

Tony smiled softly and looked away, then whispered just loudly enough for Steve to hear him, "I could never stay mad at you."

And they just sat, for a while, Steve reassuring himself that they were okay, _Tony_ was okay, and Tony reassuring himself that he hadn't scared Steve off with his angry outburst. After a minute or two, Steve tentatively slipped his arm around Tony. Tony leaned into the touch, giving Steve the courage to whisper, "Thanks."

Tony looked at him, bemused. "For what?"

"For telling me – what you've told me. And for forgiving me."

"I don't want to hide anything from you," Tony said, surprising himself with the honesty in his voice.

"Okay, then, will you do something for me?" Steve asked.

"Blowjob?" Tony inquired hopefully.

Steve smacked him. "No! Just … could you play all of Pachelbel's Kanon? For me? I don't want you to play it when you're hurt and alone any more – I want you to play it when you're happy. Because it's so beautiful, when you play it, and I don't want you to hide it any more."

"That's a pretty big request," Tony said, but he found that, with Steve by his side, smiling at him and – unbelievably – loving him, it wasn't that difficult.

_The slow chords of small beginnings slowly grew and grew until they had built melodies of love and happiness, melodies of comfort and safety, melodies of never being alone again._

_C, G, a, e, F, C, F, G._

* * *

**This one is … really personal, actually, because Tony's story of his childhood and the piano and Pachelbel's Kanon is based off of me. I'm not as alone as he is, because I have my friends and my little sister, but I also use Pachelbel's Kanon as a … comfort piece, of sorts.**

**Thanks for reading this, everyone. Those of you who give me nice reviews, especially – thank you so much. Reviews always make me feel better. :)**

**And please, please, _please_ go listen to this piece if you haven't heard it before. It is seriously the most beautiful piano piece ever written.**

**Here's a link to a great recording of it (take out the spaces): : / / www . youtube watch?v=kllZlF6mB2s** ** (Or just Google "George Winston Variations on the Kanon by Pachelbel.")**


	17. Rain

**I haven't updated in a while (because, um, let's just say that AP Bio got really confusing for a while and I needed to fix that, and also Tumblr.) I'm terribly sorry about that. I'd love to say that it won't happen again, but … NaNoWriMo starts in five days, and there won't be any updates during that, for sure.**

**(For those of you unaware: NaNoWriMo is this thing that we truly insane writers do, in which we take the month of November as an excuse to attempt to write 50,000 words in 30 days. You can find out more at if you're curious and/or also insane.)**

**HOWEVER. I will try to update this at least two or three more times before NaNoWriMo starts, in order to make the pain of me not updating for an entire month a little less.**

**Anyway, for now, enjoy a little bit of fluff, in which Steve shares my apparently causeless (but actually vested in deep-seated emotional trauma) love of rain. :)**

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**17. Rain**

One minute, Tony Stark was in his workshop, tinkering with the newest Starkphone, and the next, he was forcefully following one Captain Steve Rogers to an unidentified destination.

Not that he _minded_, or anything – the view from behind Steve was quite enjoyable, to say the least – but he did like to know where he was being dragged before he was dragged there.

"Steve, where are we going?"

The good Captain was not of the same mindset, apparently.

"Steeeeeeb?"

"Outside. We're going outside."

"Why? Are the Avengers assembling?"

"Nope."

"Does Fury want to see us?"

"No."

"Did Thor break a skyscraper by accident again?"

"Uh-uh – wait, _again_?"

"Don't ask. Is it … Did a huge truck full of donuts crash outside of the tower?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Tony, see for yourself!"

They'd arrived at a back door, which Steve promptly opened and nearly pushed Tony out of.

And … oh. That was why. Although he still didn't get it.

"It's … raining?" he asked weakly.

"YES!" Steve exclaimed. "It's raining. Raining, Tony, RAINING!"

"And, um, what's so exciting about that?" Tony wanted to know. "It's a natural weather pattern. Water condenses into clouds, then, when it's gathered enough, it falls from the sky in the form of rain. Well, these days, there's a lot of sulfur dioxide and other shitty greenhouse gases in there, too, but, you know, same diff – ow, Steve, what was that for?"

The supersoldier hit his boyfriend again, just for good measure. "You were sciencifying something amazing," he explained.

"Sciencifying isn't a word, Steve. And how is rain amazing? It's just … rain."

"But it's more than that! It's … I don't know … It's like new life and hope, you know? Like that part in _The Lion King_ when Simba walks up Pride Rock, at the very end?"

"Oh, God, _why_ did Natasha make you watch all of her Disney movies with her?" Tony mumbled – before he was suddenly seized and practically thrown into the pouring rain.

It was harsh and pounding, drops slamming into him like a never-ending drumbeat. Tony's suit was getting completely ruined and he honestly had no idea why Steve enjoyed this so much; _he_, for one, felt like a prisoner under interrogation. (And that had happened to him before. And it was majorly not fun.)

Steve let the water pour down onto his face and body, and thought of a different, and yet somehow similar, rainstorm eighty years previously, when a tall (to him at the time), strong, handsome little kid with an incredibly wide smile and knocked down the bullies who'd been beating Steve up, pulled him under a nearby awning, and said, "Hi. I'm Bucky. Wanna be friends? You look like you could use a friend."

Bucky had been Steve's first friend, the first person to look beyond his physical weakness and see the kindness, the intelligence, the willingness to try anything. He'd been annoying, teasing, and, well, something of a jerk, but he'd been incredibly loyal, and Steve had loved him for that. Rain had used to remind Steve that he wasn't alone – and then, when he woke up seventy years later to find a world irrevocably changed and seriously lacking in Buckys, it had reminded him of how lonely he was – the man out of time.

But, now, Steve had Tony, and he wasn't alone any more.

Steve looked at Tony, standing there, shivering, in the rain, his suit being destroyed, his hair being flattened by the ceaseless droplets, and found himself overcome with affection for this man, this hero, who had somehow managed to make Steve feel at home, seventy years in the future.

And Steve finally felt brave enough to do something he had thought he'd never been able to do.

"Tony."

"Yeah?"

"Teach me how to dance."


	18. Dancing

**Here's a short sequel of sorts to the last one – the actual dancing lesson. (I apologize in advance to any dancers who might be reading this; I don't know much about dancing. Corrections would be welcome.)**

**As I live on the East Coast, I don't have school today because of Sandy, so I'm going to try to update as many times as I can before my power goes out. :)**

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**18. Dancing**

"Teach me how to dance."

Tony stared in disbelief at his strange, lovely, quite possibly insane boyfriend.

"Dance?" he asked.

"Yeah," Steve answered, blushing, as though just realizing that the request might be abnormal.

"Here? Now?"

"Yeah …" The supersoldier was sounding less sure by the second.

"Any particular reason?" Tony wanted to know. "Because I think this would be much better inside, where it's, y'know, warm and dry. And also where we can have music playing …"

Steve seemed to consider this idea for a moment, then his face hardened, as though he had decided something of crucial importance to his existence. "No," he said. "You're going to teach me how to dance right here, right now, before I lose my courage."

And it suddenly occurred to Tony that Steve had had a date with Petty, a date in which she would teach him how to dance, a date they never fulfilled.

Tony pulled his boyfriend into an embrace, then arranged his arms into the correct position for a simple waltz. "Okay," he whispered, smiling.

Somehow, he didn't feel the rain so much, with Steve in his arms.

"So, um, is this right?" Steve asked nervously, his face flushing adorably.

"Yeah," Tony told him. "Oh, and you're leading, because you'll probably need to dance with girls. Now, step forward with your right foot and I'll step back with my left."

"Like this?" Steve did so.

"Yeah … Now step forward with your left and I'll step back with my right …"

They continued the pattern for a minute or so, slowly but surely, Tony calling the moves and Steve carefully following his instructions until, soon enough, they were dancing. On an impulse, Steve tried pulling Tony's arm up, leading him in a spin. It made them lose their coordination completely, but that was okay, because they were laughing and grinning and it was still raining but neither of them really cared.

Suddenly, Steve found himself staring into Tony's eyes, seeing the depth of the anger and loneliness the man had felt in the past and how it was slowly disappearing, how Steve was helping it to flee, how Tony was becoming happy.

"I love you," Steve whispered.

Tony smiled in reply, a soft smile like the fermata at the end of a beautiful piano piece, then brought his boyfriend in for a kiss.

"Great," Tony said after a moment. "Waltz down, sort-of. You only have, oh, fifteen more different dances to go."

"Seriously?" Steve asked. "I thought it was simpler than that. Like, there was one basic step, and then you were done."

Tony snorted. "Oh, I wish. Wanna continue this lesson later? I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get seriously cold and wet."

"We could take a hot shower together," Steve suggested shyly, having only recently gotten used to the idea of lovers openly sharing things, like rooms and showers and beds.

"That sounds perfect." Tony grabbed his boyfriend's hand and led him back into the tower. Neither man noticed that, behind them, the rain slowed down to a light drizzle, letting the sun peek its tired face through the clodus.


	19. Dishwasher

**Here's another one, this time about Steve's failure to understand modern technology. xD**

**(Seriously, though, dishwashers are amazing inventions.)**

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**19. Dishwasher**

Steve looked up from an extremely cluttered sink to find himself staring into the eyes of an extremely bemused Tony Stark.

"What are you doing, Cap?" the genius asked.

"Um, washing the dishes," Steve replied, gesturing with soapy hands to the mountain of dirty plates leftover from the Avengers' bi-weekly pasta night. "It's my turn, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tony agreed, "But why is it taking you so long? You should've been done ages ago – we're all waiting for you to start the movie."

Taking that as an insult, the former Capsicle bristled. "Maybe I just like to do a more thorough job than everyone else."

"Or maybe," Tony said, noticing something crucial, "you don't … Steve, do you use the dishwasher?"

"Dishwasher? What's a dishwasher?"

"Think about it for a second."

"Dish … washer." Steve thought about it. "A washer of dishes. Right. Like me? I'm a washer of dishes."

No sooner had he finished the sentence than he found his boyfriend's head engulfed in his shoulder. "… Tony? Are you alright?"

"Fine," Tony's muffled voice answered. "I just had to face-plant into something, and you were the nearest available item."

"… Oh."

Tony stayed there for a minute or so, then took his head out of Steve's shoulder (with some regret, as it was quite a nice shoulder) and directed the supersoldier's attention to a gleaming black appliance to the lower right of the sink. "Do you know what this is, Steve?" he asked.

"Um … no," Steve admitted.

"It's a dishwasher."

"… A what?"

"It washes dishes. For you," Tony explained.

"Seriously?" Steve was skeptical. How could a machine wash dishes? Wasn't that a task that required care and love and … human-ness?

"Seriously. Here, I'll show you …"

**~wheee break~**

"So, Tony, what happened to the dishes?" Steve asked after the end of the movie.

Tony grinned (one of those rare, beautiful grins that made Steve feel as though he could do anything) and, grabbing his boyfriend's hand, led him back into the kitchen and to the strange black appliance.

He pulled it open with a shout of "TA-DA!" and awaited Steve's amazement.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Oh, my goodness gracious … The dishes! They're clean! They cleaned _themselves_! And they're_ dry_, too! And it happened while we were watching the movie, so it didn't take much time at all! This is so _convenient_! It's like magic, or like … like …"

"Like modern technology?" Tony suggested, wondering how Steve managed to find such awe in something as simple as a dishwasher, and how that wonder could be so freaking adorable.

"Yes, like modern technology!" the supersoldier agreed, continuing to marvel at his new favorite kitchen appliance. "This is amazing! Thank you so much, Tony, for showing it to me."

Smiling, Tony spun Steve around, locking him in an embrace, his head resting on the larger man's shoulder. "You're welcome," the genius murmured. "Anything to increase your free time, so that you can spend more of it with me."

Steve blushed, grinned shyly, and caught Tony's face with his huge, muscled hands, reeling him in for a kiss.

"… _And, Peter, that's why dishwashers are the best appliances in the kitchen."_

"_Ew, gross. TMI, Dad, T. M. I."_


	20. Late Night

**Wheee another one. Short and sweet, for you lot. :3**

* * *

**20. Late Night**

Steve awoke late one night with a conflict in his bladder in need of urgent assistance.

He fumbled around in the dark, unwilling to turn on any lights for fear of arousing his slumbering boyfriend. Once he'd located the toilet and relieved himself accordingly, the supersoldier returned to find the bed entirely claimed by Tony; the genius was lying face-down on the mattress with his arms and legs spread out, as though he was making a snow angel on his stomach.

Steve sighed (this type of event occurred far too frequently for his liking) and carefully rolled his boyfriend back onto one side of the bed. Tony protested meekly, but stayed sleeping, tugging at Steve's shirt until the blond man let him use his stomach as a pillow.

In the soft, pale blue glow of the arc reactor, with his eyes closed and a contented smile on his face, Tony looked … peaceful. Happy. Naïve, even – his sarcastic smirks, crude jokes, and eyes that had seen too much were replaced by the features of a boy who had yet to experience the unfairness of adult life.

Tony was smaller, in the late night. He had no suit with him now – he was naked – he was unprotected – he was human.

Steve curled a strong arm around Tony, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead.

Anyone who tried to hurt Tony Stark in that moment would have one majorly pissed off Captain America to deal with.

"I love you," Steve whispered.

"Mmm," Tony murmured in his sleep, snuggling closer.


	21. Sandy

**The obligatory hurricane drabble, since a hurricane is currently attacking the East Coast. xD**

**This will probably be my last one, so enjoy, guys! :D**

**Also, if you haven't seen Sandy's Twitter (HurricaneFollow), definitely go check it out. It's hilarious.**

**(And yes, Bruce likes Doctor Who. Why wouldn't he? It's awesome. Jack/Ten is actually my OTP.)**

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**21. Sandy**

Steve was sitting on the couch, idly sketching a picture of Bruce (who was sitting next to him, watching some weird, confusing British show about a time-traveling, bowtie-wearing alien who fought other aliens with a futuristic screwdriver thingy) when Tony burst into the room like a manic dinosaur, his eyes wild and hair disheveled.

"STEEEEEEB!" he screeched, sounding not unlike a distressed pterodactyl.

Although he was worried (had someone slipped drugs into Tony's coffee or something?), Steve decided to stay calm, in the hopes that his calm would bring about Tony's calm. "Yes?" he asked. Calmly.

"WE'RE GOING TO GET HIT BY A HURRICANE!" Tony shouted, not seeming any more calm.

"I'm aware of that, yes," Steve said. "Why do you think Bruce and I have been gathering water, candles, and nonperishable food for the past few days?"

"Wait … You have?" Tony inquired, not frantic so much as confused. "Seriously? When?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No … BUT ANYWAY!" And he was shouting again. "STEVE! WHAT IF THE CITY GETS FLOODED?! WHAT IF WE LOSE POWER?! WHAT IF I LOSE MY PROJECTS?! WHAT IF I LOSE INTERNET ACCESS?! WHAT IF I HAVE NOTHING TO DO FOR DAYS?! WHAT IF I GET BORED?! WHAT WILL I DO, STEVE, WHAT WILL I DOOO?!"

Just acting calm apparently would not cut it any more; Steve had to take further measures. He stood up, walked over to his boyfriend, grabbed him, kissed him to shut him up, and finally shook him for a little bit.

"Tony," he said sternly, "We will not lose power. The tower runs on a massive arc reactor, remember? And even if that goes out, you have backup generators. Bruce and I checked. If the city gets flooded, which is unlikely, we'll be fine, because we have plenty of food, water, and any other materials we could need."

As he spoke, Steve watched Tony's panic slowly deflate, like a balloon with a small hole in it. The supersoldier continued to tell his stupid, adorable boyfriend why his panic was completely unprecedented: "We might lose internet access, true, but I lived my whole life without internet in the forties and I think we can all do it again now. It might be good for us, actually – like what happened at the lake, remember? It would be a good opportunity for team bonding."

Tony rolled his eyes at this, but let Steve go on.

"And you won't lose your projects. For the important stuff, your backups have backups, and for the less important stuff, you're smart, you'll be able to figure it out again. Finally, I can personally promise you that you won't find yourself with nothing to do for days, Tony. You will most definitely not be bored," Steve assured Tony with a grin.

Tony inspected Steve for a moment, as though making sure he meant what he said, then grinned back. "Do you promise?" he asked.

"I promise," Steve said.

"Good."

Tony kissed him, then – sort-of his way of saying, "Thank you for not letting me panic." This went on for a little while, until the two men found themselves unconsciously moving toward their bedroom.

"Hey. Guys. GUYS!"

Oh. Yeah. Bruce was in the room. They may or may not have forgotten about that.

"You're not transparent, you know," the scientist said, glaring at them. "Either make out here or make out somewhere else, I don't care, I can ignore you, but, for God's sake, _don't stand in front of the TV._ This is a good episode!"

Steve blushed; Tony laughed. They muttered apologies, then made their way into their room for some pre-hurricane boredom-busting.


	22. Bath vs Shower

**Hi, everyone ... So, it's been almost two months ... You all have the right to call me an asshat and put me in the stocks and throw rotten vegetables AND EVEN POTATOES at my face (yes I've been watching Merlin), because my reasons for temporarily abandoning this story are ... bad. Well, I mean, decent, but bad.**

**See, first I was doing NaNoWriMo (I won, by the way, and if anyone wants to read the story I wrote, ask and you shall receive, because I'm more proud of this year's story than I am of last year's), and then I was recovering from NaNoWriMo, and then I was writing Christmas present fanfics for all of my friends (because I'm broke and it's actually sort of fun in a really stressful way), and then I was recovering from that, and then it was Christmas, and then I started posting this Hetalia multi-chapter fic and got caught up in that, and somewhere along the way, my Superhusbands inspiration just flew out a window. To Narnia. Not even joking right now. It met Aslan and stuff. Seriously.**

**So, long story short, I only just got my inspiration back today, in the bath. (I decided to take a bath today for the first time in years. Baths are warm and fuzzy.) THUS THIS FIC.**

**AND YES, THE REASON TONY WAS FREEZING WILL BE EXPLAINED IN THE NEXT DRABBLE I POST. BECAUSE POSTING OUT OF ORDER IS WHAT I DO. BECAUSE I CAN.**

**Also, just a warning: if you have me on author alert, prepare to be spammed, because all of those Christmas present fics I mentioned? I'm posting them. Very soon.**

**(P.S. I just noticed that this story has 100 reviews. 100 exactly, as of me posting this. THANK YOU! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! I TOTALLY DON'T DESERVE YOU! HAHA JUST KIDDING I DO I'M AWESOME. ... No, seriously, thanks. :))**

* * *

**22. Bath v.s. Shower**

"I must have a hot shower right now, or I will freeze. Literally freeze to death," Tony declared, throwing off his snow-covered coat and tossing it onto the floor of his and Steve's bedroom.

"Must it be a shower?" Steve asked, picking up the coat and placing it neatly on the back of a chair.

"Steve," Tony said matter-of-factly, as though explaining the obvious to a young child, "hot shower means even hotter shower sex. So, yes, it must be a shower."

"But … I wanted to take a bath," Steve protested.

Tony gave him that _look_—the Steve Doesn't Understand Modern Technology or Culture and It Is Completely Exasperating and Also Incredibly Adorable Look. "Bath sex is uncomfortable and awkward, and you have to sit in your own cum afterwards. Not nearly as hot."

"Who says we have to have sex?" Steve asked.

"Um … I do. What would be do besides have sex?"

"I was thinking …" Steve looked down, blushing, "cuddling."

Tony stared at him in disbelief. "Bath … _cuddling_?" He said the word as though it was something offensive to him.

"Yeah."

"But … but _sex_!"

"We don't _always_ have to have sex when we shower or take a bath together."

"But sex!"

"Cuddling is nice! And taking a bath is like having a warm blanket surrounding your whole body! It would be lovely!"

"But sex!"

"You have an amazing Jacuzzi bathtub, and we should take advantage of it."

"But sex!"

"I'm really not in the mood for sex right now."

"But sex!"

"Okay, you know what? I don't really need a shower _or_ a bath," Steve said angrily, ready to storm out of the room.

Tony acted quickly, entwining himself around his boyfriend like a passionate jellyfish, to hold him in place. "But _sex_," he whispered into Steve's ear, giving it a casual lick afterwards.

Steve turned around to argue, but before he could, Tony leaned in and pressed their mouths together, and somehow Tony's tongue was in Steve's mouth, and Steve couldn't think of any more arguments.

"But _sex_," Tony repeated, pressing a kiss to Steve's neck.

"Okay, okay, fine, a compromise," Steve gasped. "Shower sex first, then bath cuddling afterwards. Fair?"

Tony whooped and shed his clothes faster than Steve had previously thought possible, which he took to mean, "Yes."

**~always BREAK a banana to a party~**

"Steve."

"What?"

"I'm not complaining about staying in the shower longer, but, um … I thought you wanted bath cuddling?"

"We will, just as soon as I finish in here …"

"_Steve_."

"What?!"

"It's been half an hour."

"And? This is great! I love show—hey, what did you do that for?"

"_We are going to have bath cuddles._"

**~always BREAK a banana to a party~**

"Tony."

"Yeah?"

"You're going to turn into a prune if you sit in there much longer."

"But it's so nice in here! It's all warm and comfortable … I could sit in here for hours. I could fall asleep here. Want to fall asleep here?"

"Um, no. Sorry."

"But _Steeeebe_~!"

"_No_."

"What, why'd you make the water start draining? You're so _meeeaann_."

"It's for your own good."


	23. Snow

**As promised, the explanation for why Tony was freezing in the previous drabble. (I don't need to write in order. Who says I need to write in order? Writing in order is for boring people.)**

**Oh, and by the way, Tony's "won't anyone think of the children" rant is inspired by my new favorite fanfiction: a Merthur fic on livejournal called Coffeeshop Muffins, which I believe everyone should read (even if you have no idea what Merthur is) because it's adorable and MERLIN GAVE ARTHUR HIS MUM.**

**... Anyway, before I start ranting about Merthur ... the drabble. Thing. Whatsis.**

* * *

**23. Snow**

New York City in the winter is, as a rule, miserable. The streets are so slushy, walking anywhere without getting your feet wet is more impossible than convincing Clint Barton that archery isn't cool. The outside is too cold and the subways are too warm. All of the coats are either too expensive, too puffy, not warm enough, or look like something out of a most-ridiculous-clothing-items-of-the-year competition. The winds threaten to knock you off your feet. The street-cleaners _never_ do a good job. Long story short, there's a good reason why most of the city's wealthiest inhabitants hibernate in tropical climates for the duration of December, January, and February.

But sometimes, not too rarely if you know when to look, there will be that one perfect morning. It snowed the night before—eight inches, maybe, enough to stick but not enough to be a huge issue—and it just stopped so recently that the streets haven't been cleared yet. The snow covers everything with a soft blanket of the purest white. There are no cars on the streets, and barely any people on the sidewalks—and those who are there scurry along quickly, hiding from the cold in their not-heavy-enough coats. The city that never sleeps is as silent as a little town in the middle of nowhere. Everything is peaceful, like a slumbering child.

Or, at least, it was, until a few of Earth's mightiest heroes slammed their building's front door and headed out into the winter wonderland.

"Tony, come on! Why are you walking so slowly?"

"Because I'm _freezing_, Steve. My toes are numb already, and my fingers are giving in to my toes' peer pressure."

"Aw, is wittle baby Tony afwaid of a wittle cold?"

"Shut up, Clint. You're cold, too."

"No, because I am _prepared_! I'm wearing three shirts, two sweatshirts, a waterproof jacket, three pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, heavy boots, three pairs of gloves, two hats, and long underwear!"

"And you look ridiculous. Stop taunting Stark and come _on_. We have to start building our fort before those guys!"

"Nat, you're mean."

"No, you're an idiot."

"Guys, please don't fight …"

"BUT FIGHTING IS ONE OF THE NOBLEST OF PURSUITS! YOU SHOULD FEEL HONORED TO BE PRIVY TO SUCH AN INTERESTING AND NOBLE OF ARGUMENTS IN THIS WAY, BRUCE-WHO-IS-PEACEFUL-BUT-STRANGELY-ALWAYS-ANGRY! NAY, YOU SHOULD JOIN THEM!"

"Thanks, Thor, but I'd rather not …"

"_Tony_! At this rate, it'll be lunch time by the time we get there!"

"Good. Then, we could go back home, where it's _warm_," Tony muttered, huddling deeper into his parka and wishing that he, like Clint, had had the sense to wear … Well, maybe not as many layers as Clint had, but at least another pair of gloves.

Steve groaned at his exasperating boyfriend, deciding to grab his arm and forcibly tug him along. Tony protested, shouting about how his arms and legs were going to fall off, because his insane friends had dragged him out at _seven fucking A.M._ on a _Saturday morning_ to freeze to death, which would definitely happen before they even _started_ building one of their stupid snow forts, which was a terrible idea by the way because _they were not five-year-olds_, and they would probably bury Tony's dead body beneath their forts which would turn out like unattractive mounds of snow, and his children would never see their father again, and yes of course Tony was the father because Steve had to be the mother because he was the nurturing one, and wouldn't anyone think of the children?

Natasha pointed out that if he _did_ freeze to death, it would be his own fault for not wearing warm enough clothing, and he and Steve didn't even have any children.

Tony replied that Peter took a lot of offense at that comment.

Nobody knew who Peter was, except for Steve, who was blushing uncontrollably for some reason, so that argument sort-of awkwardly died out like a middle-school relationship.

Well, at least, it _was_ dying until Clint called Tony a wittle baby again, Tony tried to punch him in the face, Clint ran away, and Tony ended up chasing him all the way to Central Park (which had been the group's destination in the first place), so at least they didn't take hours to get there, as Steve had feared.

Central Park was a vast expanse of white: white ground, white trees, white bushes, white signs, white benches. Barely any footprints tainted the serine expanse of pure whiteness—the park was untouched, like a blank whiteboard that had just been cleaned.

It was the ideal place to build snow forts, and then have a snowball fight.

Teams were called: it was Tony, Steve, and Bruce versus Clint, Natasha, and Thor. (Tony hadn't wanted to join in, but Steve had bribed him with the promise of warm apple pie and a rousing bout of video games when they got home. And also Steve had kissed him. Yeah, that had helped.)

The fun started out slowly, as with any combination snow-fort-building-competition-snowball-fight. Foundations had to be built, and that was a lot of work, particularly as nobody had remembered to bring shovels, so all of the snow-piling and snow-stacking had to be done by hand.

"My hands are _numb_," Tony complained, but nobody was listening to him.

Then, after what Tony swore had been ten hours of hard labor (it had been about forty-five minutes) the groups finally got to the exciting stuff: the shaping. Steve and Bruce put a lot of effort into making their fort efficient, with lots of little windows big enough to pelt snowballs out of but small enough that it would be difficult to get hit by the enemy, stairs that could be climbed to reach the top of the fort if necessary, and stockpiles of extra snowballs. Natasha somehow managed to fashion a tank out of snow (making everyone even more scared of her and Russians in general than they had been before.) Thor occasionally patted the snow too harshly, causing it to cave in under his over-enthusiastic hands, but he did make snowballs in record time. Clint was caught adding a slide to his fort, because, "Hey, just because we aren't kids any more doesn't mean we can't pretend, right?" Natasha and Thor couldn't really complain too much, because the slide was actually quite fun.

After half an hour of working without him, Steve and Bruce found Tony huddled into a small niche he'd carved roughly into the side of their fort, playing on his phone.

Steve yelled at him for a bit about honor and duty and responsibility, Tony yelled back about it being cold, Bruce asked them to please not fight, and then everything was forgotten when Tony got hit in the head by a massive snowball (more of a snow-_missile_ than a snow-_ball_) and turned around to find Clint pointing and laughing at him.

"Oh, you will _pay_ for this, Barton," Tony growled, fashioning a snowball of his own—but Clint was already long gone. Advantages of being a master assassin and all of that.

And, well, the fight was on.

The Avengers fought long and hard, longer and harder than they'd ever fought against any alien invasion. After all, it's much easier to beat your enemies than it is to beat your friends. (And don't even get me started on friends-turned-enemies—those are just impossible.)

They threw hundreds of snowballs with deadly accuracy (Steve even had a shield-sized one that somehow managed to return to him after he threw it, just like his actual shield). War cries and curses of all sorts were shouted. Tears were shed. (Well, that was just Clint after one of Tony's better-aimed snowballs hit him in the nuts, but still.) Stories of that day would be told for years to come. Even Tony forgot about the cold for a while.

And then, at last, the moment had come. The final round. The winner takes all. The climax. The height of the battle.

There were only two snowballs left—Steve held one, and Natasha held the other. Whoever scored a more direct hit on the other team would be the winner.

You could have heard a fly sneeze, so quiet were the various Avengers in their anxiousness at the suspense of the moment.

"Three … Two …" Thor counted. (He was counting because the general opinion was that he was the most fair.)

"… One … ZERO!"

Natasha whipped her snowball at Steve's balls (she had no shame) faster than a fangirl who has just spotted her OTP can run, but Steve was faster.

He deflected the snowball with his snow-shield, as he threw his own snowball right into the face of an unsuspecting Clint.

"YEAAAAAHHH!" Tony crowed, pointing and laughing at the master archer wiping snow from his face. Clint gave him the finger, but Tony was too happy to care.

"WE WON!" he added, in case that wasn't already obvious.

"Y-yeah … I guess we did," Steve said, wonderingly.

"We DID!" Tony grabbed his boyfriend and spun him around. "Or, more accurately, YOU did! I love you, Steve!"

Steve tried to reply, but instead found himself in a lip-lock.

Which was perfectly okay, really.

And Tony didn't complain about the cold the entire way back.


	24. Resolutions

**I figured that, since I missed Halloween, Thanksgiving, AND Christmas, I might as well do New Year's. (Maybe I'll do Martin Luther King Jr. Day, too, just for the heck of it. xD)**

**So, here, have some resolutions. Oh, and some Clintasha. And a bit of Thor/Jane.**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! :D**

* * *

**24. Resolutions**

"Okay, now, I think we should go around the table and tell each other what our New Year's resolutions are," Steve announced, interrupting the dinnertime banter of the other Avengers.

All of them sort-of stared at him. It was a stare he'd named the Universal Steve Was In the Ice a Little Too Long Stare.

"What?" the good captain asked. "Making resolutions is a New Year's thing! And besides, sharing like this is team bonding—like sharing what you're thankful for on Thanksgiving."

The stare was not receding. In fact, Tony face-palmed—he was probably remembering what had happened when Steve had suggested they shared what they were thankful for on Thanksgiving. (It had ended with Natasha smashing Clint's head into the remnants of the turkey when he'd said he was thankful for her boobs. Not pretty. But totally not Steve's fault, for the record.)

"Well, my resolution is for all of you to respect me more as a Captain, and for us to grow closer and work better together as a group," Steve said, hoping that if he started, other people would follow. That usually worked. Well … It sometimes worked. Well … It rarely worked. Well … It had worked once or twice.

But it was still a good strategy!

"Sorry, Steve, but that's a lost cause," Tony told his boyfriend.

And then Steve _looked _at him, all kicked-puppy like, and made Tony feel guilty for not supporting him in his attempts to encourage group bonding or whatever.

"My resolution," he said after a moment, taking a deep breath, "is to stop drinking."

Clint oohed appreciatively. "Stop drinking … period?" he asked. "Like, completely?"

"No, of course not," Tony replied. "That would be suicide. I mean … stop getting drunk. One or two glasses or shots or whatever a night, max."

He stared down at the suddenly fascinating tablecloth, feeling a bit embarrassed at sharing something he didn't usually share. But Steve squeezed his hand under the table and gave him an I'm Proud of You Smile, so it was okay.

"Oh, and I want to test the very limits of Steve's stamina," Tony added, grinning cheekily and dodging the smack Steve aimed at his head, getting laughs from the others at the table.

"MY LUTION OF THE RESOLVE," Thor boomed, deciding that this custom sounded like fun, "IS TO FIND THE COURAGE INSIDE MYSELF TO INQUIRE OF THE BEATEOUS LADY JANE IF SHE WOULD BE WEDDED TO ME IN HOLY MATRIMONY. AND I ALSO RESOLVE TO REUNITE WITH MY BROTHER, BECAUSE I DO NOT WISH FOR HIM TO FEEL LONELY OR ABANDONED, BECAUSE HE IS NOT, NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST."

Everyone was silent for a moment, silently applauding Thor and his good-natured heart.

Bruce was next.

"My resolution," he said, confidently, as though he'd decided on this a long time ago, "is to be able to fully control my … my changes. I'm getting better, but I don't ever want to get angry unless I have to."

"Good for you, buddy," Tony told him, giving his best friend a pat on the back.

Clint was looking away as he quietly announced, "My resolution is to not be so useless in battle. Sometimes, I run out of arrows, and then I'm just sitting on top of a building somewhere, with nothing to do, while you guys are risking your lives, and I know I make fun of all of you, but I hate it. I want to get more arrows, or get better at hand-to-hand combat, or _something_, so that I can be … a better part of the team, I guess."

_That _was something nobody had been expecting.

"THAT IS A JUST AND NOBLE CAUSE, MY FRIEND," Thor exclaimed, giving Clint an enthusiastic punch in the shoulder (which was more painful than it was enthusiastic, because, well, Thor.)

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Seriously. Wow."

Clint blushed and muttered a few curses, then looked pointedly at Natasha.

It took a good two minutes of everyone looking pointedly at Natasha for her to admit, "My resolution is to be less scared of commitment."

Nobody caught the quick look she gave Clint afterwards.

There was a moment of silence, then, as the Avengers contemplated the way they'd opened themselves up, honestly, and Steve thought that they _were_ becoming a team, and he hadn't even really noticed.

"Well," he said, after a minute or so had passed, "now we have a real battle on our hands: which movie to watch?"

**~I'm the smart BREAK, you're the potato BREAK~**

"Five …"

"Four …"

"Three …"

"Two …"

"One …"

"ZERO! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"… Ugh, would you guys _please_ take that someplace else?"

"Nope, sorry."

"You're disgusting everyone else here."

"Nah, you're just jealous 'cause you want to be kissing Tasha right now."

"…"

"You know I'm right."

"… Fuck, you are—_mmph_!"

"CONGRATULATIONS, CLINT AND NATASHA, ON REALIZING YOUR UNION AT LAST! THAT REMINDS ME! I AM GOING TO TELEPHONE THE LADY JANE AND WISH HER TIDINGS OF A JOYFUL NEW YEAR!"

"And I'm going to finish the champagne, since none of you guys seem to want any …"

"WAIT! WAIT! I WANT SOME!"

"I thought your resolution was to stop drinking?"

"BUT THIS IS SUCH GREAT CHAMPAGNE! I'll only have one glass, I promise …"

_It's a new year. A clean slate. A chance to throw out your mistakes and start again, to try to be the best person that you can be._

_So count down from five, shout with excitement, kiss someone, laugh with a friend, drink some champagne, and try not to break your resolutions before January's over._

_Happy New Year._


	25. Dishes

**Yes, I am _so_ good at updating regularly. Look at my wonderful regular updates. *sarcasm* I try, I really do, but my Spamano muse and my Merthur muse are always more powerful than my Superhusbands muse for some reason ... And then sometimes my Johnlock muse or my Doctor Who muse will pop in for a second, just to annoy me, and all hell breaks loose. xD**

**BUT I WILL TRY HARDER, I PROMISE. Track is almost over, so I'll have more free time after that. Oh, and I've finally seen The Amazing Spiderman, so I think the next drabble I write will probably have Peter in it. (I love Peter. Yay for Peter.)**

**In other news, this is number 25! Wow. I never thought I would get this far. :)**

* * *

**25. Dishes**

It's a strange, little-known fact that you can tell a lot about a person from the way that person stacks dishes. To take the Avengers as an example:

First, there's Thor. Thor does not know how to stack dishes—why would he, in Asgard they didn't have dishes, or at least, if they did, he didn't know, because that was what servants were for. So, he has no idea what he's doing, and ends up putting the cups where the silverware is supposed to go, and the plates where the cups are supposed to go, and the silverware back in the drawer without drying off properly. He can't ask anyone else how the process is supposed to work, because he's sure that he can figure it out, being a god and all that. One would think such a technique would end in disaster, but no—Thor is so careful with all of those dishes, so determined not to break anything, so adamant that it would be dishonorable to stack things in a dangerous way, that nothing breaks. It's all okay. A little haphazard, but okay.

Thor is not of the human world, and he usually has no idea what he's doing, but he's so honorable and determined to do things, if not in the right way, then at least in a way that will prevent people from getting hurt. He may appear a little slow, but he's really just a big teddy bear. Things he do tend to turn out okay.

Next, there's Clint. Clint tends to see dish-stacking as a challenge to accept—he challenges himself to stack dishes in the weirdest, most nonsensical ways he can come up with. He piles plates on top of bowls on top of frying pans, and packs four glasses into a space that should only be able to accommodate two. If his structures pass (translation: survive over a minute without breaking), he crows with victory and gives himself a sticker. If they fail, he cleans up most of the broken glass, leaves a little bit for Tony to accidentally step on later, and resolves to do better next time. Eventually, he's gotten so good at weird, dangerous dish-stacking that his configurations hardly ever break any more.

Clint loves to challenge himself, and he's always trying to find new, crazy things he can do to help out the team, shoot down more bad guys, make the most of his twelve arrows. Sometimes, his ideas end in failure, but he never blames anyone but himself, and when he resolves to do better next time, he almost always does.

Then, there's Bruce. Bruce is the careful, delicate one of the bunch—when he does do the dishes (not often, because he tries to get out of it) he plans the position of every dish he stacks in such a way that none of them will break. _None of them. Will. Break._ There's always a buffer zone between plates and absolutely no chance of a glass falling over. Sometimes, he even towels off a batch of dishes, so that he won't have to cram things together too much. That's not to say Bruce has never broken a dish—he does get annoyed at Clint every so often, and finds himself chucking a mug at the idiot's head to get his anger out—but when he does, he's always sure to make up for it by being even more careful the next time (and the others thought that wasn't possible.) In many ways, his dish stacking is the complete opposite of Clint's, but in a couple (in the important ways) it's exactly the same.

Bruce is a quiet guy. He prefers staying on the sidelines, doing some scientific calculations, to getting out in the field, where he might potentially hurt innocent bystanders. Bruce doesn't want anyone to get hurt. He's hurt people before, and he hated it with everything in his being, so he's incredibly careful, _so_ careful, so that it won't happen again.

After that, there's Natasha. Natasha is a dish-stacking ninja—nobody knows how she does it, but she somehow manages to fit all of the dishes on one dish rack, no matter how many there are, and she does it twice as fast as anyone else, without ever breaking a single dish. The rest of the Avengers see her as a sort-of dish-stacking master, and a couple of them have even begged her to tell them her secrets. Clint is the only one who knows anything, and that's allegedly because he got it out of her in bed. It's almost scary, how good at dish-stacking Natasha is.

Natasha, to the rest of the team, is an enigma. They simply don't understand how her mind works, what she's thinking behind her hardened, Russian face and her killer fight moves. Clint knows the most out of anyone, but that's only because she loves him—or, at least, he thinks she does, because she's never said it. Natasha doesn't make sense, but she's the best out of all of them, because her plans always work, and she never loses, to anyone.

And then, there's Steve. Steve stacks dishes slowly and carefully, as though afraid of what he might accidentally do if he puts a plate down too harshly or something. He's not as paranoid as Bruce, and he's definitely more efficient than Bruce, but he and Bruce are similar in the way they examine the position in which they place each dish, to make sure that it won't fall over and break. Steve is always really cheerful when he does the dishes, which is different from all of the others (who see it more as an annoying chore), as though he truly enjoys doing his team a service by wiping the leftover pasta sauce off of their plates. He grins and whistles something patriotic, and the others make fun of him for it, but they do admire the way he never breaks a dish.

Steve is a leader. He's careful without being paranoid; he critiques without insulting (well, most of the time); he does his duty without making it feel like a chore. He's always excited to face new challenges and to serve his country. His plans aren't always perfect, but he's so cheerful about them that the other Avengers can't help but feel cheerful about them, too.

Finally, there's Tony.

Tony does not do dishes.

Ever.

"Steeeeebe!"

"What, Tony?"

"Why are there no clean spoons?"

"I dunno, maybe because you used up all of them making twenty cups of coffee this morning?"

"Well, then, why didn't somebody wash them?"

"They're _your_ spoons. Why would anyone else wash them?"

"… Because all of you love me?"

"No. You need to learn to be more responsible, Tony. We are not always going to pick up your slack, and—"

"So, you don't love me, then? Steve, I'm hurt."

"What? I never said that, I just mean—_MMPH_!"

"Y'know, I like you a lot more with my tongue in your mouth."

"_Tony_."

"Don't deny that you feel the same about me. I know you do."

"Well … um … maybe a little …"

"… _Steve_. Bed. Now."

**(And Tony never did start doing his own dishes, because, as he convinced the other Avengers, it was his house he was letting them stay in for free, so the least they could do was his dishes. As this was actually a decent argument, they agreed. Yay, dishes.)**


End file.
